Enduring Hope
by Mage of the Heart
Summary: He wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, to caress the line of her mouth with his thumb, to trace a gentle finger down the line of her nose, to press his lips to her forehead and whisper for her to come back to him... He couldn’t. -Post S2-
1. Prologue

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

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**So, after finishing NaNoWriMo, I decided to start posting after having edited the prologue. A huge thank you to Feline to agreeing to beta yet another one of my stories and for doing it so quickly!!! The story itself is still in progress, and the bits that I've got need a lot of editing, but I hope its worth it! I'm going to get started on The Art of Living again soon, but thought I'd post this first and see how it goes down. **

**Enjoy!**

**Mage**

**X**

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His throat was tight and narrow; he couldn't breathe, and no matter how hard he tried, the air would not infiltrate his lungs. He felt encased by iron, wrapped in a cocoon of guilt and anger so fresh that he felt it like a physical wound, a bleeding gash that refused to clot and heal. The gun had been taken away, probably filed away with the evidence and witness reports by now, and his trembling hands itched for something to hold, to squeeze, to provide him with an outlet on which he could vent out his anger, to replace the guilt with something constructive, whatever it may be.

Alex lay in the bed, her light makeup still on her face, her hair still styled meticulously, with barely a trace of flyaway strands, its body still bounding around her face, full of colour, of vigour, of volume, of life... life, he thought, which he may well have taken away from her, and which seemed to evade her now as she lay there, attached to a machine that said her heart was beating, even though she gave no trace of movement, no sign of ever having been able to lift the delicate hands which now lay so uselessly at her sides.

His legs were numb, his arms dangling limply at his sides, and although he wanted it more than anything, he could not bring himself to sit down in the visitors' chair, nor move himself close enough to her sleeping form that he could reach out and stroke her cheek, to apologize, to beg her forgiveness... He was scared to touch her, scared that she might break, that if he so much as grazed his skin against her own, the sound of beating would stop, and the pulse that sounded so strong and steady at this moment in time might cut out... He couldn't bear the idea of killing her.

The colour had drained from her skin the moment his bullet had entered her stomach, tearing into the soft tissue and issuing blood almost instantaneously. Her mouth had fallen open, and however much he wished differently, Gene had been unable to do anything but repeat -in a pointless, hollow, empty voice that gave no sign of emotion- the single word of "Bolly."

It had been a rhythmic and desperate and pleading mantra, even as Ray, Chris and Shaz had turned their fearful, disbelieving eyes upon him, even as he had sank so weakly to his knees at the side of her fallen body, his mouth open and slack as he looked down at her, feeling completely useless, horrific, guilty...

Her blood had spilled onto the pavement, the warm, scarlet liquid staining his trousers as he stared so helplessly at her pale and lifeless face. His right hand had shaken, causing him to drop the weapon from his rapidly clenching and unclenching fingers as he reached out, touching the small trickle of blood that slid from her lips, pressing his other hand almost fearfully to the wound in her stomach- the wound he himself had inflicted, and the wound that now stained her with blood and smeared that perfect white leather with scarlet markings, the dramatic contrast imprinted upon his mind's eye, even as the ambulance had arrived, the paramedics lifting her bleeding body onto a stretcher and carrying her swiftly away from him, leaving him there with her blood all over him, the black leather of his gloves glistening with a thin sheen of red, his wrist smeared with a trickle of scarlet liquid where the strap failed to cover up his skin...

He'd left the scene before they could arrest him; in the flurry, the bustle and the confusion, nobody had even tried to stop him... He had thought for a moment, as he pushed past Ray, that he saw a look of loyalty, of uncertainty, but by no means any less understanding, and it was a mutual agreement not to take him in, not yet, not without orders... Gene had left before any of the others had come round from their state of shock, tearing the gloves from his hands as he climbed into the Quattro, tossing them onto the passenger seat and speeding away, his mind blank, his head spinning, desperate, confused, completely and irrevocably ridden with guilt... All he could do was press down on the pedal, hoping and praying that, if he drove far enough, he would never have to confront the vile act he had just been a part of.

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He'd driven for hours until, almost inevitably, he'd ended up outside the Hospital; he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted to. Even as he saw the unmarked Police car that Ray so often used, he couldn't force himself to leave, knew with innate certainty that he simply had to see her, had to know that she wasn't dead, that he hadn't killed her, that he hadn't ruined his Bolly...

He'd run to the desk, flashed his badge and asked where she was, knowing that they wouldn't argue unless they knew for sure that he was the one that put her here, the one presumably gunning for her life, that he was the officer to be stopped from seeing her... Not that Ray or Chris would have had the brains to tell the receptionists not to allow him in, he had thought shrewdly as he descended the stairs. He'd been on her floor in moments, mind awash with worry and guilt, unaware of anything but the signposted corridors towards the 'Willow Ward', until he had come face-to-face with Ray, whose face was still home to that same understanding, but was now riddled with added pain, confusion, hurt...

"Can't let you in there, Guv..." he said, and it was evident that the order didn't sit well with him, even in the circumstances. Gene felt an unwitting surge of gratitude, even as the other man went on. "Should bloody arrest you by rights; Super wants yer head on a plate with his afternoon tea! Says anyone who sees yer has to turn you in-" he gulped, glancing from Gene to the door, and then shaking his head imploringly. "Don't go in there, Guv... It won't do yer no good. Yer should leave, and get as far away as bloody possible before they get crime-squad in on it..."

Ray was bristling, wracked with indecision, and for a brief moment Gene wanted to hand himself in, to stop Ray turning as bent as the rest of them by letting a guilty man walk free, and maintain that thin slither of hope that maybe, just maybe, not all of his team had passed over to the other side of the thin blue line... But he couldn't.

He was desperate to see her, could feel his heart pounding in his chest like there was no tomorrow; there was nothing else but the rapid pulsation of blood through his ears, obscuring all sense of reason, becoming violently irrational as, above all else, he hoped and prayed that Alex was still alive, that she was still able to hear that same pulse in her own ears as blood thumped through her brain, that when he walked through the door she would leap out of bed, give him a good right hook around the chops and tell him to get the fuck out... He could live with it, he thought, as long as he knew she was alive.

"I didn't shoot 'er Ray!" Gene said in a low voice, glancing over Rays shoulder at the room behind, seeing nothing but the outline of a pair of feet beneath a white blanket. "I mean... I didn't try an' kill her! Bloody stupid tart ignored me and came anyway, and then bloody Jenette just-"

"I know yer didn't mean to, Guv," Ray said, looking down. "We caught Jenette buggerin' off right after you did, only the Super wants yer pulled in for questionin' anyway... He ain't 'appy, Guv."

Gene said nothing, looking desperately towards the door of Alex's room, before meeting Ray's blue eyes with his own. "I ain't a bloody killer, Ray..." He could see the pain in Ray's gaze, knew that he was unsure of where his loyalties should really lie, that whether or not he believed the shooting had been deliberate, he was fighting with himself not to cuff Gene like a common criminal...

"Five minutes," Ray said eventually, turning away a moment later and heading swiftly towards the other end of the corridor. "I'm off fer a fag..."

Gene knew what he meant straight away- five minutes, before he came back and did his job like any decent copper should. He could only nod, unable to show the true depth of his gratitude as he stumbled weakly through the door to Alex's room, his eyes blurred with fear as he walked in.

The moment his blue eyes fell upon her sleeping body and he saw her, the world crashed down around his ears.

----

It wasn't rational, but having stared at her blankly for several minutes, his heart hammering and his whole body trembling at the sight of her so weak and vulnerable, he had begun to babble, his words incoherent for what felt like forever, babbling apologies, murmuring curses and running a hand through his hair nervously, before suddenly, out of nowhere, he found himself ranting for her to wake up, threatening to slap her, his heart-rate thundering out of control, trying to keep his voice and temper levelled while begging her to come back, trying to tell her how desperate he was, to convey the fear, the guilt, and the sorrow without sounding like a nancy...

Sam always said they could hear what was spoken in the room, that talking to them helped, that it might give them something to come back to... he'd done a lot of things since the two of them had landed themselves on his doorstep, but he wasn't completely comfortable pouring out his feelings to a conked out posh-bird with a poker up her arse... Not that he didn't want to– Oh, God, he wanted to. There was something desperately clawing at his stomach, begging him to simply tell her, to show her how worried he was, to convey his sincerest promise that he would never have deliberately shot her, to explain that he had only been trying to protect her, and that he was a dozy twat for having clenched his finger in panic, but would she please just wake up and tell him what a complete and utter knob he was so that he didn't need to be scared?

But he was scared. And he wasn't even sure what scared him the most; the knowledge that he had almost shot a fellow officer dead, meaning that he had almost been guilty of the crime he had most despised since his first day as a copper, or that he had shot Alex?

Because Alex wasn't just a copper, was she? She was a bird- which was pretty damn bad in the first place, because no decent bloke turned his gun on a bird, no matter how pissed he was – but even that wasn't it... She was his Bollinger Knickers, constantly retorting, arguing, talking him down, snapping back at his suggestions with Psychiatrical insights that boggled his mind and made him want to shake her until she gave into his way of thinking... But that still didn't quite cut it, did it?

The small part of his mind that he tried to shove away whenever she was around knew as much; she was his friend, and his colleague- not just a woman, but a woman he had learnt to respect, come to trust, to appreciate, to genuinely care about... And even if the day before had been a bucket of piss, one that still rankled and confused him like nothing else ever had – because how else had she expected him to react to hearing that she apparently came from the future? - it didn't matter; not really- not when he considered the fact that her life was now hanging in the balance as a result of his own, stupid and juvenile actions.

He'd practically spilled his heart out to her, shown her the depth of his pain and grief when Chris had turned out to be bent. He had told her, in not so many words, that he relied on her, needed her, that she was the only one he could trust... It had barely been three days since then, and here he was in the hospital, looking at her lifeless form, comparing the pallor of her skin to the white of the sheets and feeling his throat constrict with the worry that she was going to disappear into it any second now. Even as he looked at her, his mind filled with the sight of her so lifeless and empty, he could still smell the red wine, the soft perfume of her skin, the musky smell of her flat that was homey and welcoming in a way he had never been able to understand. He could still hear the dull clink of her glass against his, see the soft twitch of her lips, the understanding in those pale brown eyes that held his entire world in their depths, and the delicate fingers that wrapped around that glass so tenderly - the same fingers that had the power to crush him into oblivion, a feat that her tape had very nearly achieved...

He stared at her, simultaneously pleading for her life and yet still praying for an explanation, for her understanding, for a reason that she would say those things about him and then be so God-damned bitter, making up bollucks about the future, about being shot, about Sam...

The irony was, he'd always compared her to him, really, at the very back of his mind – he'd seen Sam in her, in the expressions they used and the way that they worked, in their plain, outright acceptance of things that made no comprehensible sense to him, or to Ray, or to Chris...

Even more ironic, he realized, was the fact that she had claimed to have been shot, and woken up with him, and now he'd gone and bloody reversed her mental fruitcake loop by shooting her, sending her away from him and into the bloody coma she claimed she was already in... If he'd thought about it, at the time, he thought, the rational thing would have been to send her to see someone- a doctor, he supposed, or one of them Psychiatrists - or Psychologists, or Psycho-analysts, or other fancy-bollucks titles that made no bloody difference and all amounted to the same thing – that she had always been so fond of. Maybe then they'd have gotten back to him and blamed everything on a difficult childhood, given her a couple of pills and put her right again...

He glanced at the clock on the wall. He only had a minute before Ray would be back, but still words evaded him, catching at the back of his throat, his mouth paper-dry, and his tongue heavy. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't. He wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, to caress the line of her mouth with his thumb, to trace a gentle finger down the line of her nose, to press his lips to her forehead and whisper for her to come back to him... He couldn't.

All he could manage was to step forwards, nervously sliding two of his fingers beneath hers, daintily squeezing them in his grasp, feeling the coolness of her skin against his and wishing that she could feel the warmth of his own hand against hers, if only for these briefest of moments... His cool blue eyes fixed on her face, taking in every detail of it, feeling it scratch itself into the very essence of his being, burning against his mind's eye, echoing, with terrifying clarity, the evidently peaceful, but yet still so painfully unresponsive expression.

He could feel something clench in his chest, felt a twisting in his gut, before he let her go, wrenching his hand away with a harsh pang. He took one last sweeping look at her face, his thoughts remaining desperate and yet still unspoken, before he was gone, leaving the room with both hands shoved defiantly into his pockets, slipping out of the front door just as Ray re-entered. He nodded at his DS and long-time companion, hoping against hope that he could understand his gratitude in that simple action, finding himself incapable of speech, walking blindly towards the car and slipping into the seats with a gasping breath. He placed the key in the ignition, not turning it, but instead reaching into his jacket pocket, drawing out the leather covered warrant card that he had taken from Alex only the day before.

He flipped it open, taking one look at the familiar face - the perfect cheekbones, the soft red lips, the curly hair- before he pushed it firmly and decisively into his left-breast pocket, resting just above the fearful pounding of his heart, feeling warm and welcoming against his chest, even as he turned the key and pulled away from the parking lot, his mind filled with dread.

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**Hope it was alright, let me know :-)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	2. Awakening

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Thank you for all of the encouraging reviews for the last chapter :) I'm glad it went down so well. I've written this since finishing NaNo to fit in between what I'd already done. Hope it's worth the wait. Huge thanks to Feline for getting this done amidst her Uni work :) **

**Hope you like it!**

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Alex didn't hear his voice again.

After her initial terror at seeing his face, and having run screaming down the corridor, she was brought back to bed by a panicked hospital warden, settled in with a cup of water, and then given a pair of painkillers that had sent her to sleep almost instantly.

That was two weeks ago – since then, she'd slept, she'd been poked and prodded, she'd been briefed on her condition and she'd been asked not to move around alot, and the only thing she had been able to think of was Gene.

It was ironic, she mused on more than one occasion, that she had spent every moment with him longing for her daughter, and yet now she was here, to all intents and purposes returned to her rightful place in the universe, with Molly visiting every day, the only thing she could think about was what might have happened to him. Had he been arrested? Surely not – they couldn't really think he meant to shoot her, could they? Well, she considered, perhaps, given the circumstances of their dispute the day before, they might have had reason to question him, but there was no way that they could really believe it – not if they'd seen his face as the bullet tore into her stomach, anyway.

The odd thing, she realized, was that it hadn't even hurt that much; there had been a dull ache somewhere around her abdomen, and a slight difficulty breathing, but really, it had barely breached her mind- the only thing she had been able to see or feel or hear had been Gene – Gene, looking more petrified than he could have known, the blood draining from his face and fear darkening his eyes. His mouth had moved, out of synch with the noise that reached her ears, but there was no mistaking it once his gruff, and yet somehow velvety voice had infiltrated her mind. It had been desperate, more pleading than he could possibly have realized, and she had been vaguely aware of a dull clatter of metal as the gun hit the floor, of his face coming nearer as he sank to his knees at her side and then- and then she had woken up.

She couldn't remember anything else after that, though she assumed that she had been taken to hospital and Gene had snuck in to see her, given that he'd been on edge and thoroughly worried for himself when his voice had breached through to her – it had terrified her. She had expected normality if she returned to two thousand and eight, expected that she would have to deal with losing Gene's constant force of solidarity at her side, but after a few hours she would be able to convince herself it had all been a dream...

She'd had no such luck.

The moment she had seen his face, her heart had begun to pound, confusion clenching at her stomach- the realization that she couldn't forget him was so profound that she had tried to run, her legs weak beneath her but yet somehow still working, pumped full of adrenaline that had caused her whole body to shake... She had told herself, as the nurses steered her back to bed and fed her a dozen different painkillers to send her back to sleep, that he was just a figment, that she was just hallucinating, that when she awoke again, she'd realize how silly she had been...

But even now, two weeks later, having been discharged and proclaimed free to return home – with the understanding that Evan and Molly look after her for the next month or so, regardless of the protest she may or may not put up in the mean time- she couldn't seem to convince herself that it had all been a dream. She had agreed to go home, based on the fact she felt claustrophobic in her hospital room, and had felt, since waking up, that perhaps all she needed was to escape the room itself in order to forget all that had happened within its confines. Now though, she couldn't bring herself to leave; the idea of leaving Gene behind her for good made her heart ache more than she had ever thought it would.

Molly and Evan were sat outside waiting for her, content with her explanation that she simply needed a few minutes alone to collect herself, and that she'd be out shortly. She wanted to join them, to lose herself in their conversations and riddle herself with laughter as Evan threw all sorts of jokes and impressions around... but she felt held back, restrained, even, as though leaving the room was some sort of betrayal to the man that had stolen her heart, the person that, for so very long, she had tried to convince herself was imaginary.

She'd believed it, in part, after waking up, until, in a moment of madness, she had hiked up her hospital gown and searched for the bullet wound Gene had inflicted; she hadn't expected to find anything.

But there it had been – not fresh, as she might have expected, but closed over, scarred, as though it had been there for many, many years... She'd begun to cry on sight, and moments later, the nurses had run into the room, inserted a drip into her arm and sent her back into a deep, dreamless sleep. She hadn't brought herself to look at it again until this morning, and at the sight of it she'd felt a dull ache at the pit of her stomach; it hadn't been there before she'd been admitted to the hospital.

She'd asked the nurse about it when she came by with her clothes, and had received a frown and a shrug in reply. "Sorry, Miss," she had smiled, though there was no trace of sincerity in her tone. "I've never noticed it before – looks like it's been there a while, though."

The slight confirmation of her time in eighty-two had left her unnerved and confused – if, as the scar on her stomach might suggest, she had really gone back in time, and really met Gene, Ray, Chris and Shaz, then surely everything she had discovered then must now be true? So, she thought with a dry mouth, how was she to handle it? The knowledge that Evan had known all along why her parents had died still rankled slightly – she knew his reasons for keeping it from her, of course she did, but there was no denying that it ached. All those nights as a child where she had curled up against him on the sofa, sobbing hopelessly into his chest and asking the inevitable question of 'why?', as though she expected an answer from him, as though she could really have thought he knew...

She had never considered that, in actual fact, perhaps he had known- it had always been a mere form of release, to cry on the shoulder of a man who claimed to love her family as much as she did... She had never realized that his love for them might have been of a different sort, or that perhaps it was this 'love' of his which had led to her parents deaths...

She shook her head, standing up and biting back the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes. She shouldn't be blaming Evan – she hadn't expected to be angry at him. She'd expected to swell with gratitude at the sight of him, at the knowledge that he'd protected her - after all, how would she have reacted if he had told her that her father had wanted both she and her mother dead? She would have shaken her head, ran to her room and locked the door, and the next morning she would merely have shrugged it off, pretended that it had never been said... she would never have believed it at all, unless she had seen it with her own two eyes- and now that she had done exactly that, the knowledge of it all was nearly too much to bear.

Standing up, Alex gathered together the few things she had with her – the mobile Molly had brought in a few days before, a stack of 'Get Well Soon' cards from colleagues and her hospital wristband, which for some reason she felt an unwitting attachment to – and placed them into her simple black handbag. Wearing a plain white blouse, black trousers and jacket, with her hair pinned neatly behind her head and feeling decidedly overdressed, Alex made a mental note to visit the hairdressers and the shopping centre as soon as possible.

With one last, almost wistful look around the room, she joined Evan and Molly in the corridor, putting on a brave smile as her daughters' slightly smaller, warmer hand slid into hers. "Come on, Mum," she smiled, "Evan's bought cake!"

---

Alex went instantly to bed, pleading a headache to a disappointed looking Molly, and shaking off Evan's look of concern with a smile, stopping to kiss them both on the cheek and speaking in a soft voice to her guardian and friend, while her daughter slunk sadly into the living room. "I'm fine," she assured him, "really, I'm fine – I just need to get some rest. I haven't moved in over a month, it's just taking some getting used to."

She headed up the stairs, and, after glancing around in slight confusion at the unfamiliar layout, she found her own room, freezing in the doorway and staring at the plain room before her.

It was a pale vanilla colour, with a beige carpet, a bland, wooden wardrobe, a metal-framed bed and a large wooden desk, on which sat her silent PC terminal, white in colour, with matching keyboard and mouse. She blinked at the dull colour scheme, pushing away the immediate comparison with her deeply coloured bedroom above Luigi's and stripping off swiftly to lie beneath the plain, white cotton sheets that had been freshly laid out for her. The moment she closed her eyes, a familiar, rugged face filled her vision, and she couldn't bring herself to push it away.

She drifted to sleep, and as she slept, she saw nothing but Gene.

---

She awoke in the dark, the curtains of her room having now been closed, and the clothes she had discarded without thought on the floor now resting neatly over the arm of her desk chair. She half smiled, realizing that Molly must have been in to check on her, before swinging her legs out of the bed, rifling through her wardrobe and pulling on a pair of jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt that hadn't seen the light of day since a good ten years previously, before tiptoeing down the stairs, sighing to herself when she saw that the living room light was on, walking slowly in and managing a slight smile in Evan's direction when he looked up.

The light in the corner was on, lighting up his face and highlighting the contours and lines that had most assuredly not been there when she had seen him last, either in the present day or in nineteen eighty-two. His eyes looked sunken in his skull, lacking the laughter that she had always been able to find in their depths as his lips twitched into a barely-there grin. He was drinking whiskey, she noticed, and felt an immediate pang in her stomach, attempting vainly to push it away as the amber liquid glittered in the light. His beard had become slightly untamed, and his hair had developed even more grey strands than before, and it struck Alex in that moment, for what seemed like the very first time, that he was getting old.

A moment later, she was on the sofa next to him, curled up with her knees to her chest and her head on his shoulder, as she had done so many times in her youth, words catching in her throat as tears stung at her eyes. She didn't miss Evan's look of worry, nor the way that he instantly muted the already barely audible television set as his arm slid around her shoulders. "You ok, Titch?" he murmured, and Alex couldn't help but laugh – albeit wetly- at the reverted use of his childhood nickname for her. It was fitting, she realized; at that moment, she'd never felt more of a child.

"Fine," she said, surprised at how easy it was to be comfortable with this man after everything she had learnt, and the slightly tenuous relationship that they'd developed in eighty-two. Evan ruffled her hair lightly, careful not to brush the wound still visible on one side of her forehead, his grip on his glass slackening as he looked at her.

"You sure?" He asked, evidently disbelieving. Alex only nodded, reaching for the glass in his hand and lifting it to her lips. Evan's eyebrows flew up his forehead and into his hairline as she sipped it, his voice confused as he spoke next. "Since when did you like whiskey?" He asked, waiting for the inevitable grimace, the shake of her head as she pushed it back into his hand and insisted that she didn't; none came. Instead, she shrugged, taking another sip and wrapping her arms around her legs as the familiar warmth spread to her fingers and toes, filling her from the inside out. Single malt, she smiled; Gene's favourite.

Evan waited a few moments, before he pulled the glass from her grasp, settling it on the table at his side and ignoring her disgruntled sigh as he eyed her sternly. "You shouldn't be drinking," he told her firmly. "You're on enough drugs to kill yourself if you overstep the mark."

Alex sighed. "I'm fine," she repeated, resting her head back on his shoulder. "Just need a nightcap, that's all- it's nothing to worry about."

With a roll of his eyes, Evan settled his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the unease in his stomach as Alex bit on her lip, looking as though she might burst into floods of tears at any moment. "Get to bed, Titch," he said eventually, affectionately patting her arm before dislocating himself from her, pushing her lightly and indicating that she should move.

Alex heard the familiar intonation in his voice, the tone that said he didn't want to revert to being her guardian, but that he was bordering on nagging if she didn't take his advice- she couldn't help the slight burn of tears in her eyes as she considered the number of times that he had adopted that tone in her childhood. The stinging realisation that each time he had said it, each time he'd taken on the role of responsibility, he'd known what had really happened to her parents, lied to her about it, told her that he didn't know, dawned on her suddenly, and she shivered, looking down slightly...

When Alex didn't budge, he looked at her concernedly, searching for something to say that wasn't patronising, but would still get his point across – she looked thoughtful, resigned, and Evan knew he had to tread carefully- he knew how stubborn she could be, and somehow he doubted that a spell in hospital had had any impact on that streak of her personality. "Alex, I-"

"What happened to my parents, Evan?" She asked softly, surprised by the timid note in her voice when all she could feel in her stomach was confusion and anger.

She saw his eyes widen slightly, saw the frown that creased his forehead, and watched as he sank slowly into the armchair opposite her, ignoring the churning in her gut as Evan shifted his gaze to the wall behind her head rather than look at her.

"Alex, we've spoken about this before. Maybe you-"

Alex shook her head, interrupting quickly. "No we haven't," she said. "Not really- you haven't been honest with me, have you?" She tried to meet his eyes, but Evan averted his eyes, shaking his head.

"The Doctor said this might happen," Evan started, "delayed concussion, memory loss, confusion... I'll call them and ask for-"

"Please, Evan," Alex whispered. "I'm not suffering any delayed trauma – I know that you know what really happened..."

He stared at her, meeting her eyes with hopeless pleading, but he didn't need to verify it – she wouldn't give up unless he told her. She'd got that look in her eye – the fierce determination that he'd found so inherently attractive in her mother, and that had always sparked a protective instinct in his stomach whenever it rekindled in Alex; she wouldn't let up. And he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, she already knew.

"Alex," he said desperately, "I swear, it was only ever to protect you; I would have told you if I'd thought it would do you any good whatsoever, but-"

"Please," Alex reiterated, eyes glistening with tears. "I already know for the most part – just tell me... I have to hear it from you... I have to know it wasn't a dream... that it was real – I need to know it was real. Please, Evan?"

She saw his face fall, pain contorting his once handsome face into the grimace of a tortured man, before he nodded, reaching for the bottle of whiskey that Alex had failed to notice on the coffee table, and taking a large swig before he dared to speak.

When he did, his voice was haunted, distant and eerie, and Alex dragged the pale blue blanket from the top of the sofa and wrapped it around herself as he told her everything, with such painful honesty that it was almost more unbearable to hear his words than it had been to see it for herself.

He told her of the affair with Caroline, of their joint guilt, of their admissions that it had all been a mistake, and of how they had ended it when it had gone too far. He told her how he had resigned, in the hope that Tim wouldn't discover the affair, and then he told her, with an expression so wrought with guilt and pain, that Tim had found out – somehow, though he still couldn't understand how, when they had both been so careful never to let it slip – and recorded a message on his video camera, before planting a bomb under the car he had leant them for the morning.

"Do you have the tape?" Alex asked, already knowing the answer, but needing the clarification, not just that what she had learnt had been real, but that-

"No," Evan said softly, his voice shaken and emotional, "the DCI in charge disposed of it- you were never supposed to find out."

Alex stared, feeling the overwhelming discovery press down upon her shoulders like a physical weight, unable to think straight as images flashed before her eyes- Gene taking Alex Price's hand after the explosion... Gene carrying her younger self into the Police station... Gene ripping the tape from the video and throwing it away...

The confirmation, the very reality of it all, shook her, and if she hadn't been sitting down she would have collapsed where she stood. She wanted to feel thankful, relieved that Evan had finally come clean to her, told her the truth, without leaving out any gaps... she should be grateful that he viewed her as an adult, but somehow she couldn't shake the unbearable wave of bitter pain that was sweeping through her as she realized, with incredible clarity, for the very first time, that the events in her coma had not just been dredges of imagination from overworking on Sam's case... Sam, she realized, struck with the familiarity of it all- not DI Tyler, or Sam Tyler, or Case number 1-9-7-3; Sam.

She blinked, pushing away memories of nineteen eighty-two, attempting to forget the snatches of information she had gleaned from what she had once thought to be imaginary constructs, and looking at Evan's crestfallen and worried face with tears trickling down her cheeks. She managed a watery smile, but a moment she was sobbing helplessly, wracked with grief and pain and confusion, and he was on the seat beside her, drawing her comfortably against his chest and holding her in his paternal grasp.

She wept, unsure whether she was crying anew for the circumstances of her parents' death, or for the knowledge that the people she had left behind had been real. Their faces swam before her one by one; Shaz, Chris, Ray, Viv... Gene.

His fearful face remained before her eyes for longer than all of the others, and she buried her face into Evan's shoulder, sobbing helplessly as he shushed her, rocking her gently as he had done so many times over the years in the dead of the night, soothing away the fears and demons that had haunted her youth and had since returned to plague her adulthood.

The feeling of safety that she had always recognized within him, even before her parents deaths, returned tenfold, and her love and respect for him grew as he ran his hands through her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he hummed a familiar lullaby that, even through the haze of tears and heartache, brought a smile to her lips.

"I'm sorry, Titch," he murmured, "you were never meant to find out... I know that doesn't make it any better, but- well..." he trailed off, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Four in the morning; he had to be up in three hours. The sensible thing would be to go to bed, but somehow-

"How did you find out?" He asked quietly, giving Alex a gentle, reassuring squeeze and praying that she wouldn't burst into a fresh round of tears.

Alex stiffened, gulping and glancing at the floor, searching for a valid excuse and fabricating something, stumbling over the first plausible explanation that she could think of. "I saw a file – at work... Layton's. It said he was a client shortly before they died, and had been a possible suspect, but then when I looked at their file it said that Ti- my Dad, I mean, had been- that he'd-" She stopped, feeling her voice crack and sinking against Evan's chest as she burst into renewed tears as the pain of it all crashed down around her once again; she could only be thankful that he saw no reason to question the validity of her statement.

"I am sorry," Evan reiterated. "I should have told you as soon as you were old enough to understand, but I... I didn't..." he trailed off, waiting a few moments before he managed to recover himself, resting his head on hers as she continued to cry silent tears. "I couldn't be sure that you wouldn't hate me- they were perfectly happy before, Alex, and it was me that drove the wedge between them... Losing the two of them was – it was awful, Alex... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, too..."

She managed a small, watery smile as she looked up at him, and then reached across for the glass of whiskey. Evan barely even protested, except to frown in disapproval as she swallowed the last dregs and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think I'll go back to bed," she whispered finally, sniffing slightly as she drew herself back into a normal sitting position. Evan nodded, gently taking the glass from her fingers.

"Ok," he murmured, gently rubbing at her arm. "I'll make sure Squirt doesn't wake you up in the morning... I'll be back by twelve."

Alex could only nod her head blankly, shakily getting to her feet, with Evan swiftly rising to steady her when she stumbled slightly to one side. "Come on," he smiled hesitantly, drawing her out of the room by the elbow, "you need some sleep..."

He led her up the stairs, bracing her around the shoulders with his arms whenever she had difficulty keeping her balance, occasionally pausing to clarify that she was alright.

At Alex's door, he twisted round to meet her eyes, placing his palm across her forehead and feeling the warmth of her skin. "You're burning up," he said, sight. "Get into bed- I'll fetch you some water." A moment later, he'd run off down the stairs, and Alex weakly opened the door and eased herself back under the blankets, shivering slightly as the cool fabric touched against her hot skin like ice.

When Evan returned, she was curled in a ball, the tears still fresh on her face, and after having set the water on her bedside table, he settled himself onto the mattress, stroking her hair consolingly. It was only after several minutes, when the crying had eased slightly and the shakes had dispersed, that Alex managed to speak.

"What happened to Gene Hunt, Evan?" She whispered, watching her guardian's blue eyes flicker with surprise at her question. His jaw tightened, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped before he replied.

"He's still around somewhere, I think... how'd you know him?"

Alex shrugged. "His name was on the file... I just- I don't know... I'm glad he's ok." She managed a weak smile, though she didn't miss the sad look in Evan's eyes. "He is ok, isn't he?" She whispered, her heart hammering worriedly in her chest.

Evan stroked her hair softly, averting his eyes from her and speaking quietly. "He's fine, Alex- get to sleep now, hey? We can talk tomorrow."

She wanted to argue, wanted to protest and demand to know what had happened to Gene, why Evan sounded so hesitant and reluctant to tell her anything... She wanted to, but Evan was already leaning over to press a soft kiss to her forehead, in the same way he had when she was thirteen and suffering from flu, and tears threatened her once again.

"Love you, Titch," he murmured. "Get some sleep."

Alex could only nod, allowing Evan to tuck the blankets gently around her before he left the room.

The room went dark, and left alone, her mind became wrought once more with grief and longing, not for her parents, but for Gene, in the hope that wherever he was in the present day, nothing was wrong... The only thought she had as she drifted off to sleep, was of him.

---

**Hope it was ok :-)**

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**Mage of the Heart**


	3. Guilt

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Thanks again for all of the great reviews :-) **

**Hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

**Thanks to Feline once again :)**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Mage**

**x**

**----**

Gene knew it was the worst place to go; it was probably the first place they would think to look, but for some reason, he couldn't help himself. He drew up outside the station, dumped the car as quickly as possible, carelessly tossing the keys onto the driver's seat with no real ceremony, before he found himself walking swiftly in the direction of Luigi's, taking the side entrance into the building and glancing quickly into the deserted restaurant; with a sigh of relief, he realized that even Luigi had somewhere else to be, and he slipped a questing hand beneath the till, finding the spare key without difficulty before he walked swiftly up the stairs, his throat dry, his hands clammy with cold sweat. It wasn't strictly breaking and entering, he consoled himself- and even if it was, he'd already shot a serving police officer; why not go the whole hog?

He'd slipped into the familiar flat before he'd really even had time to think about what he was doing, and the moment the door was closed he snapped his eyes shut, wanting to block out everything that lay beyond the wooden barrier of the door. His head fell back against it as the onslaught of familiar scents consumed him, wrapping around his sinuses as he attempted to breathe more coherently, his heart thundering away in his chest.

There was a hint of hairspray, just tangible on his tongue as he breathed in deeply. It was slightly acrid, but it was scented with such familiarity that Gene's head spun with confusion. The warm, musky smell that he had come to associate with Alex's home drifted towards him, a mixture of shampoo, shower gel, perfume, beauty products, air freshener and wine. It was a feminine smell, and one that was completely Alex; the robust flavour of the wine, the warm flavours of its bouquet, the gentle spice of the perfume and the fruity scent of her soap all enveloped him, and he was wrapped in a haze of warmth, of pleasure, of complete contentment, for one single, blissful moment where he could forget the blood that stained his hands and trousers, where he could allow the wonderful, dreamy presence of her to consume him, to wipe away his worries and doubts and fears for these brief few seconds...

His eyes stayed closed, his heart beat slowing and calming, returning to normal for the first time since the shooting, bringing with it a wave of tiredness as the long surge of adrenaline that he had thought to be endless, suddenly fell away into nothingness. He felt naked, alone, completely shattered and broken, and his knees buckled slightly before he dared to open his eyes, gulping at the sight of her flat, so perfectly familiar in every way.

The pillows on the sofa were slightly crumpled, as though they had recently been laid upon, a small dent in their surface as though Alex had rested her head there as she watched the television set. A bottle of half-empty red wine stood on the coffee table, beside a glass which was, inevitably, empty. A small red mark stained the rim, and Gene could feel the insistent tug in his belly, the strange need to trace his fingers across that mark, to feel the lipstick stain his skin and prove that she had existed, that she still did exist, that he hadn't dreamt her up... He didn't do it.

He moved his eyes instead to the kitchen area, half-smiling at the seemingly unchanging layout; the sparkling surfaces which were never used appeared to be immaculately clean but for the considerable number of take-out containers that Luigi often gave her when she was too exhausted or angry to eat downstairs, piled high against one wall... He felt a brief pang as he remembered the many nights where they had walked together up the stairs to half-heartedly pick at their meals, but turned away before it could consume him, his eyes scanning the kitchen table for distraction; there wasn't much to see, apart from a newspaper, which was folded neatly in two, a coffee mug with just the dregs left in the bottom, and a teaspoon resting on the coaster as though to prevent stains on the cheap wooden table... He sighed, tearing himself away and looking at the slightly ajar door ahead of him.

He wanted to enter; he wanted to know that she'd woken up that morning, left the bed in a mess in her hurry to get up on time, tossed aside her pyjama's and thrown on her clothes, leaving yesterdays dirty washing in the corner beside the bathroom, where maybe she'd think to pick them up tomorrow, to put them in the wash... For some reason, he craved that knowledge more than anything, needed, with an abhorrent desperation, to know that she had intended to come back...

Gene could see it in his mind's eye, could remember the details of the few times he had entered that elusive room to lay a drunken Alex Drake safely into bed so that she didn't smash her head on the wall on her journey up the stairs- he remembered each time with such clarity that it was practically a photograph burned into his mind's eye... but the idea of entering the room without her, when she lay so close to death in a hospital bed by his own hand, felt indecent, wrong and disrespectful... And so he turned away, moving towards the sofa and sinking onto it with a sigh of familiarity, his hands absently moving across the surface, across the smooth fabric and the slight ridges where the threads were beginning to fray. It was cool beneath his hands, providing a strange sense of reassurance, of reality, of existence... He gulped, hesitantly reaching for the cushion, his hand closing around the soft, springy material, trailing the tassels between his fingers, letting them whisper against his skin and tickle him almost teasingly.

With his other hand, he gently traced the head-shaped dent, following the contours of the cushion that Alex's face had imprinted upon its surface, imagining her cheek pressed into it, imagining her squashed face as she slept, and snored, and lay there in a completely indecent manner, with her legs apart and arse in the air begging to be slapped, just as it had done that very first night in Luigi's where he'd copped a sneaky grope as she snored... His lips twitched slightly, but he drew his hand away, leaving the dent almost reverently as he reached, inevitably it seemed, for the bottle of wine she had left on the table...

It was, as he expected, Luigi's house rubbish; did she ever drink anything else, he wondered? With a sigh, he brought the bottle to his lips, taking a large gulp, swallowing with a grimace, and then following it down with yet another considerably measured swig. It tasted strange as it rolled down his dry throat; it seemed to grate, forcing itself down to his stomach, and he wasn't sure why he was so against the drink before when there was evidently nothing to it but water and a smidgeon of berries. He could barely even feel the cool liquid as it passed down his throat, the taste was minimal, and there wasn't enough content in it to really be called undrinkable...

And there was something oddly familiar, he thought, taking another swig, in the minimal taste and the smooth but somewhat thin texture as it rolled around his mouth... How many times had he and Alex sat on this very sofa, sharing this exact same brand of wine? It felt both incredibly right, and horrifically twisted at the same time, but somehow the thought that Alex had drunk half, leaving some for him, was comforting, almost as though she could forgive him, a silent promise to return to Gene at a later date, for another drink...

He looked into the bottle with a frown, considering whether or not three swigs were enough to make him pissed, or if he was still faintly buzzing with adrenaline and it was affecting his judgement... He couldn't decide, and nor did he want to. With a sigh, he sank back into the sofa, and closed his eyes, listening intently for anything, some sign of life and existence...

There was none.

It was empty, dead, completely abandoned, and the cold silence rang in Gene's ears, seeming both loud and quiet at the same time... He realized, perhaps for the first time, that silence could truly be deafening.

It completely consumed him; it seeped into his very being and sent shivers down his spine as he strained his ears, desperate for any noise to distract him... Because, suddenly, through the silence that wrapped him in a dark cocoon of worry, came the all-too-familiar crack of a bullet leaving the barrel, followed by the loud, and yet somehow quiet gasp that had left Alex's throat as it penetrated her skin, tearing into her body... He wanted to drown the sound out, to stop it from reaching his ears, because in the same moment that he had held the weapon in his hand, all taste and colour and sight had left him, just as it did now, replaced with the horrific intake of breath, the sickening thud as she hit the floor, the following silence that was unnatural – so devastatingly unnatural that he could swear he heard her breathing fall shallow, could swear he heard the rapid pounding of her heart as she fought for life so desperately-

He sat up, opening his eyes and shivering, his whole body covered in cold sweat.

Glancing around, he saw that darkness had fallen. As he moved to rest his head in his hands, seeking to hide the events of that day from his mind he saw bright red, the flashing colour of danger on his wrists, still stained with Alex's precious blood... And he knew instantly that he had to wash it away, knew that if he looked at it for another moment he would drive himself mad with anger... He scrambled to his feet and stumbled across the room, his heart thundering in his chest as he hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the handle before, with one deep breath, he pushed the door aside and stepped into her bedroom.

----

The smell was most pungent here. With the bathroom so close, the scented soap carried into the main bedroom, the closed windows holding it in, keeping it trapped in this room, as though reflecting his own desperate wanting not to lose her...

He shivered as he stood there, though he wasn't sure how to explain it; the room felt warm, and yet the strong presence of Alex made him nervous, scared, agitated... He looked around the room, breathing relief at the sight of the discarded clothing from the night before, at the rumpled red-satin sheets, the make-up which she had tossed back onto the bed as she left, and the wide-open wardrobe that was spilling with disarray, various items of clothing shoved back onto the rail in her hurry to dress... She'd meant to return; he was certain of it.

Gene touched a hand to the wooden door of the wardrobe, stroking lightly over the smooth surface, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, leaping up to his mouth. He stared at the massive array of clothes, clothes that he recognized; that flouncy blouse that she'd worn when she'd agreed to let him stamp her arse, that jumper dress where she'd been about to let him do just that... The black dress she had worn on their date stared back at him, the red blouse she often paired up with those gorgeous jeans that gripped her leg like nothing else, that huge cardigan that billowed around her as she walked, practically screaming that she was freezing, that she wanted to be wrapped up in someone's arms and held tight against the chill breeze, that-

Gene slammed the wardrobe door, falling away from it, feeling guilty and horrified as he stumbled towards the bathroom, the acrid taste of vomit rising in his throat as he went. He shouldn't be here, he thought. He should be hiding out at his own place, not holed up here sniffing around her flat like some pervy stalker. It was disgusting, completely wrong, and he had no right to be here, to see these things. It would be wrong even if she were sat downstairs laughing and joking with the team, but not now, not when she was hospitalized, white as a sheet and fighting for her precious life with his bullet buried in her stomach. He should be there with her, by her bedside, pulling his hair out with stress and ordering her to wake the fuck up before they arrested him and sent him down for attempted murder of a police officer. He shouldn't be sat in her flat, drinking wine from the bottle and stroking her pillow and taking pleasure in the smells she'd left behind... He should be stuck in a cell, shivering, cold, quaking with the effort of trying to suppress the memory of her blood-drained face and the piercing gasp as the bullet pierced her flesh, as the blood oozed out and covered her in it...

He was in the bathroom a second later, slamming the door behind him, dropping just his overcoat onto the linoleum covered floor before stepping into the shower fully clothed, twisting the knob around and blasting himself with torrents of icy water, standing beneath its cascades, feeling it saturate his shirt, his tie, his trousers, soaking him to the skin, leaving him shivering, his hair plastered to his skull... He violently scrubbed at the red stains on his wrists, watching as the water turned a diluted red, running into and staining the cuffs of his shirt, dripping to the floor and swirling down the drain like something from a horror film...

When his skin was clean, only when he was certain that he couldn't possibly scrub any harder, when his skin was raw and covered in a painful rash, did Gene step from the shower, still shivering, water dripping from his body and onto the floor... He didn't bother to clean it up, sinking onto the floor, his clothes soaked through with water, dripping and oozing water as he sat down, head rested against the glass panel behind him.

He shook endlessly, his body going into spasm as he tried to work through his guilt, his anger, and his pain, even as he attempted to gulp down the vile taste of vomit at the back of his throat that he had always associated with a job gone wrong... Eyes closed, he tried to breathe, tried to focus, tried to stop himself from thinking about anything other than the soft lull of the wind outside, the gentle thrum of music rising up through the floorboards from the restaurant below as Gene opened up for CID...

But it didn't help.

He could still see her.

She was terrified and alone, in a white room where her blood spilled onto the floor and burnt its image onto his mind's eye. She was shivering, cold, sobbing, barely breathing, her hands covered in blood as she reached out towards him, desperation in her gaze, her mouth opening and closing... but even when he knew she was talking, knew she needed his help, all he could hear was that gasp of pain, the deafening silence that he was terrified would never go away...

He was on his feet in moments, sodden clothes dripping onto the floor as he pushed out of the bathroom, coat under his arm, through the small bedroom where he refused to look at anything but the floor, and into the kitchen, where he reached towards Alex's drinks cabinet – the only one that had anything in it, apparently – and drew out the large bottle of whiskey that they'd started on the other night.

Three-quarters of it remained, and he unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to his lips without a seconds thought, feeling nothing but a dull ache in his mouth when it should have burnt his throat, and still nothing as he took yet another swig... He felt nothing at all until he'd drunk enough of it to feel that odd, fleeting sense of calm that he had always associated with a drink; the fact it had taken half of the bottle to attain it should have worried him, but as he slumped to the floor against the kitchen unit, the bottle in his hand, reaching into his overcoat for cigarette and lighter, it didn't matter.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, the familiar feel of it a slight reassurance, the nicotine somehow hitting his bloodstream quicker than the booze had managed, making him light, dizzy, calmer than he'd felt for hours... He took another drag, watching the smoke rise upwards in the small room, wondering briefly if Alex would thump him for smoking in her flat, before sighing, absently bringing it back to his lips as he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, gripping the bottle of whiskey in his hands, trying not to think...

The phone rang out in the darkness of the next room, and Gene's head snapped to attention, eyes open as it rang on and on and on.

It shouldn't have bothered him; it could have been anyone.

But he'd been in Alex's flat enough times to know that if she had a phone call, it was only ever from work, and that, in lieu of being shot in the stomach and comatose, it was highly unlikely that anyone from the station would be ringing her... Unless, of course, she had been discharged, and they were simply checking to see that she'd made it home? But if she hadn't made it home, then where was she? And why would they discharge her when she'd been unconscious for the day? They wouldn't, he told himself, gulping slightly.

His heart pounded, his pulse beating through his head like a mantra, the sound of the executioners drum thundering in his ears... They must have guessed where he would be, must have realized that, since he was a copper, he would go exactly where the copper was least likely to look, and therefore lead them straight to him... He should have thought more, he realized. He should have considered that Ray, Chris and Shaz knew him well enough to understand that he would do what was expected of a common criminal- he'd act like a copper.

Hands shaking, he stubbed his cigarette on the floor, tossing it into the slight puddle of water that had gathered where he sat before standing up and stalking through to the living room, staring at the red-corded telephone as it continued to ring out, shrill and piercing in the darkness of the room.

If he answered, he'd be handing himself over.

If he didn't, they'd only come here and break down the door anyway, and it wasn't like he could go and pick up the Quattro from the station and get away...

Pride won out, and his trembling fingers closed around the telephone, bringing the receiver to his ear as he refused to say a word.

The other end was silent but for a slight hitch of breathing, as though they had been waiting for something. For a while, they both seemed to wait for the other to speak up, until, eventually, Rays familiarly gruff voice reached down the line, his tone hesitant.

"Guv?"

Gene said nothing, glancing almost expectantly at the front door as he waited for Ray to tell him he was under arrest, that there were ten coppers outside the flat and they were going to bring him in...

"Guv, Tiny-Tim's sister – that Jenette bird- she says that bloke you shot's called Summers, wanted her to errr..." Ray hesitated again, and Gene could hear the gulp in his throat before he said, "Wanted her to split you up... Was payin' her for it – cut o' the kitty, like."

Gene stayed silent, waiting for something – anything. It came when Ray spoke again, his voice low.

"They've got a witness, Guv; some old bird were walking her dog round thereabouts this morning- said you weren't tryin' to kill DI Drake, an' Jenette came outta nowhere with a gun to the Boss's 'ead..." Another pause, then, "Super says yer off the hook, Guv, s'long as you're in his office by morning – nine o'clock."

Gene gulped, nodding, though he knew Ray couldn't see. "Cheers, Raymondo," He murmured, then hung up the phone.

---

He should have been relieved he realized as he sat on the floor, his head resting back on the comfortably cushioned sofa. He'd been as good as cleared - apart from the minor part about resisting arrest and evading justice, which he was certain he'd get well and truly talked down for – but the worry still nagged at his mind, and he realized, like a punch to the gut, that it wasn't his own fate that he was primarily worried about.

The thought of prison and cop-haters had driven him into panic before, covering up the knot of worry for Alex herself as a nagging doubt about his own future... but now, even after finding out that he was going to be freed, his mind was clouded with worry, doubt, fear, concern and utter horror at the possibility that Alex wouldn't pull through... It could have been anyone; he'd have felt guilty as shit and drowned himself in a bathtub of booze if they died, but he wouldn't have felt this- this sense of hollow emptiness, the feeling that he was missing a part of him, like an arm or a leg had been severed from his body with a blunt instrument and then flung aside without thought to the fact that he was incapable of surviving without it...

Until now, he hadn't realize how much he relied on Alex, but suddenly it hit him, like a hammer to the stomach; she was his crutch, his stronghold, his unwavering source of support and sanction, and the fact that he had shot _her_, of all the innocent people he could have possibly pointed a gun at, hurt more than he could have ever known...

She was struggling between life and death, which would have half-killed him as it was – he'd practically felt the blood boiling in his stomach when she'd been so close to dying in that freezer, and he'd barely known her way back then – but to be the cause of it, to have been the one to put her there, in that cold hospital bed, in a room where the sunlight barely broke through the window, with a gaping wound in her side that was inflicted by his own weapon? It tore at his innards like a frightened animal caught in the crossfire and struggling for an escape.

In some ways, the revelation that he wasn't going to be punished was doing him no good at all; was he expected to wash over it? Forget it happened? Treat it like a simple accident that could have happened to anyone?

If it had been Chris or Ray pulling the trigger, Gene would have been beating them to a pulp at this moment, screaming and shouting and ranting and roaring at their lack of conduct, the fact they couldn't aim for beans, the fact they panicked like amateurs and pulled the trigger and nearly killed his Bolly...

And what if that was what he himself had to deal with? What if, despite his rank, his notoriety and his established ability to police the streets, the people he worked with saw him for a useless, past-his-best, washed out copper, who'd pissed away the best years of his life and lost any sense of accuracy, of right and wrong, of good and bad?

They'd all heard him threaten to kill her, all heard him speaking about potential murder suspects who'd made a threat and followed it through the very next day... At least if he was stuck in a cell, the worst distaste he'd have to endure would be that of Viv; it would be horrific, but at least it wouldn't be the whole of CID staring down their noses at him, calling him a pathetic excuse for a man when his back was turned...

He drank down the last of the whiskey, dropping the empty bottle on the floor and returning to the kitchen to draw out another bottle; vodka, rum, brandy, or wine?

He took the vodka; it wasn't normally his drink of choice, but it was strong, and he could barely taste anything as it was. There was a slight burning down the back of his throat, oddly reassuring as it seared its way down, and although the taste evaded him, he felt better for it, returning to his spot on the floor, barely noticing the way his clothes still clung to his skin, ignoring the discomfort as he settled his head back, hair drying on his head.

The flat was cool, chill with the night air and the lack of heating following Gene's complete lack of motivation to get up and turn it on; somehow, the cold kept him sane. The shivers that shot down his spine were nothing to do with the chill of the room, but at least he could pretend, fool himself as the night dragged on that the chills weren't his own, that they were just from the cold and nothing more...

He felt as though all of his blood had left his body, as though it slid away from him as surely as it had slid from Alex's wound and onto the pavement. He felt empty, hollow, overly light-headed, and completely alone; he was chilled from the inside out, and there was nothing he could do, no way to warm himself up.

The age-old methods he had always relied on –alcohol and cigarettes- seemed as hollow as the gap where his heart should be; he knew it still beat beneath his skin, knew that it was still pounding with suppressed self-loathing, but he couldn't feel it anymore... He felt completely, irrevocably numb, more so than he had ever known, more than any alcohol-induced stupor he had ever entered into- numb with an emotion he so rarely experienced, but that, once it reared its ugly head, seemed to paralyse him from the neck down; fear.

He shook, he broke out in cold sweats, he smoked away fifteen cigarettes within the hour and he flicked his lighter repeatedly in agitation, watching the orange light as it flickered on and off in the darkness of the flat.

He should turn on the light. He shouldn't sit here in the dark like a common criminal, hiding out from the law because he was too scared to face the consequences; he wasn't even on the lam anymore, he thought. He was as good as cleared, aside from the small problem of running away from the crime scene, sneaking into the hospital and having Ray pretend he hadn't seen him... But Gene realized, sat in the dark with cold sweat trickling down his brow, the smell lingering in the air and causing him to wrinkle his nose in distaste, that he wanted to be a criminal; he wanted to have an accepted reason to feel so guilty, wanted to be punished for the pain he had so thoughtlessly inflicted on Alex, and not just in the form of a lead bullet tearing into her stomach muscles and ripping through her...

The words that had left his mouth had been unforgiveable, and if Alex wasn't able to dress him down and bully him for it, he wanted someone to; he wanted someone to turn around and smack him in the face, punch him in the jaw and break it so that he wouldn't ever have to talk again...

He felt like common filth.

He was scum.

He was low, juvenile, childish and vindictive; there was no reason, no motive, no explanation for his actions... They simply happened.

He had scorned her, turned her away and replaced her with a cheap mimic that could never compare to her, because she was blonde to Alex's brown, black to Alex's white, green to Alex's hazel and plain to Alex's beauty... How he had done it, he would never know; his mind had been full of Alex's scent, even as his mouth descended onto Jenette's. He had told himself, even as he betrayed her with his body, that she deserved it, that she had made a mockery of him, pissed in his face and thrown his respect to the dogs.

His mind had screamed insults at her, daring him to continue on down the path of betrayal, to turn her further away from him and make as much of a mockery of her as she had made of him; but he couldn't even consider that now.

Perhaps Alex had lied – perhaps she had good reason to do so. Maybe, in the midst of all the confusion, it wasn't a matter of whether or not she was 'connected' to him- it was a matter of whether or not she could trust him... and perhaps she worried that she couldn't.

Would it have been so hard, he questioned himself, to have sat her down – in his office, in Luigi's, in the Quattro, wherever she felt comfortable- and asked for an explanation, without flying off the handle and speaking with such bitter resentment?

The fact that he had said such horrific things to her still rankled; insulting her daughter, when he had no idea of the circumstance, of the reason she couldn't see her... He hadn't considered, in his narrow mindset, that perhaps she wasn't accessible; through custody, or death, or whatever else, he'd never paused to find out, never thought to ask her... All those nights holed up in Luigi's, in this very flat, in the office, on the job- why had he never said anything, never questioned her about it? She'd been pissed enough to have told him the truth on more than one occasion, and yet he had never taken the time to find out, always opting for the casual flirtation, the half-hearted discussion as to the latest case, the teasing and laughing over Luigi's god-awful pasta...

He'd never given her a chance to explain things, and sitting there, his mind awash with misery, the half-empty bottle of vodka in his lap and yet another cigarette smoking away between his still trembling fingers, he wondered if he would ever get the chance again.

**----**

**Mage of the Heart**


	4. Some Kind Of Dopamine

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Thanks for all the encouragement so far :)**

**Glad to see you're all enjoying it, and hope the writing's up to par!**

**----**

When Gene awoke a few hours later, it was to the dim grey light of dawn, with the first rays of morning light breaking through the window and causing his eyes to blur with tiredness. His throat was raw and felt as though it were cracking, dry from the unhealthy combination of dehydration, alcohol and cigarettes. The clothes he had blasted with water had dried out in the night, despite the brisk, cool temperature of the flat, and though he felt that he had deserved each uncomfortable second with his shirt plastered to his back, he was grateful; he couldn't well get home before his meeting with the Super, and it would hardly have done to show up in clothes that were plastered onto him like a second skin.

Sat there in the early morning, Gene became aware, for the first time since fleeing the shooting, of the dull ache in his stomach- it was unmistakeable hunger, but whilst it should have been all-consuming, it seemed only a mild annoyance, albeit one that was bound to make him aggravated. He stood, and sloped into the kitchen without really thinking about it, opening the fridge and pulling faces at the typical array of girl-food; one shelf played host to a wide range of vegetables that Gene could swear he had never before laid eyes upon, whilst another was home to a half-eaten block of blue cheese; he passed over both with distaste, half smiling at the typicality of it all, and half wondering why she even bothered to stock up the fridge on a regular basis when she seemed to only ever eat in Luigi's, anyway.

Another shelf – his favourite, by far - had an open packet of bacon, still containing three rashers, which he instantly pulled out, along with the last two eggs and a tub of margarine. He told himself repeatedly, as he searched for a frying pan, that he would restock the fridge later – as soon as he knew that Alex was awake, and once he felt assured enough to believe that she wasn't going to kill him, he'd buy her ten packets of bacon and even offer to cook it for her...

A loaf of bread sat on the side, and he drew two thick pieces from the packet, smothering them both with the low-fat spread Alex seemed to think was nice, before throwing a large lump of butter into the pan, watching it melt and sizzle before his eyes for a few moments, then tossing the bacon in after it, sighing with apathy as the familiar smell failed to engage him; he felt hungry, but there was no desire to eat anymore- just a strange sense of habit that told him he should do so.

He turned the bacon over when it became pink, and then cracked each egg into the pan, idly poking with the spachelor until it was cooked through. There was little thought in his mind as he moved, making the sandwich in a way that felt rehearsed and dated; bread, bacon, egg, bacon, egg, bacon, bread... It should have made his mouth water; it didn't.

He wanted to feel something, to be vaguely interested in the food he was about to put into his mouth, but he wasn't; at that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care about anything but Alex at all... When he bit into the sandwich, it felt dry and coarse in his mouth, even though the taste was the same as ever, and the egg was just as runny as it ever had been... He ate without relish, swallowing each mouthful down with a painful gulp, and when he was done, he barely even bothered to polish his fingers off, instead moving to dust off his hands on his trousers, tossing the pan into the washing up bowl as he made to leave.

He'd clean it up before she came home, he told himself. Just as soon as he was back from his meeting with the Super, he'd clean up...

---

The second he stepped through the doors of the station, he felt every pair of eyes in the building turn to look at him; cleaners, plods, a couple of secretaries from the other departments that he didn't even know, and then others that he did- he avoided those eyes determinedly. As he walked by, he felt as though he were an absurd artefact from a museum, as if everyone was scrutinising him, as if they knew each and every detail about his existence and despised him for it...

As he glanced down at himself, he realised that, today of all days, there wasn't much to scrutinize. He hadn't bothered to look in the mirror before he left, but he hadn't needed to do so in order to know he looked like shit; now that he looked, he wished he'd maintained that attitude until a later date. His clothes were rumpled, creased and untidy, the shirt hanging out of his waistband and the tie dangling loose around his neck. His trousers were slightly torn, the knees still stained with Alex's blood, and though the coat had escaped the drenching from the shower the day before, and had therefore not had to dry on his body in a mass of crumples and folds, it was covered in a sheen of dirt and dust. He'd negated fastening the buttons as he had thrown it around his body on the way out of the flat, and now it flapped around behind him as he walked up towards the Super's office, keeping his eyes fixed resolutely ahead of him, carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed, but somehow managing to do so without obeying the insistent impulse to hang his head in shame.

He caught sight of Ray and Chris outside the office to CID, saw Ray's greeting nod of approval, and Chris' nervous gulp before he turned his head away; Gene said nothing, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach, and he walked on.

---

Mac's replacement was a bitter old man who Gene had felt nothing but professional respect for on sight; rumours had flown around when he joined the station that he was a drunk, whose time was spent in dingy strip clubs when he wasn't on duty- to look at him, the stories could easily have been true. He was grey haired, brown eyed, tall, skinny, and the image of a normal man, but with an air of mistrust so pungent, Gene couldn't imagine that any woman would stick around longer than ten minutes after the sex was over. Despite it all, though, there was no denying the fact that the man was a good copper in his day, and Gene's professional respect for him, however reluctant, had soared when he noted the number of cop-killers the man had put away.

Now, as Gene treaded the familiar steps toward Mac's old office, he could feel his stomach turn with worry, with the wish that he hadn't bothered to eat breakfast after all; a copper shooting his own was the lowest form of scum, and he knew it. He'd said it himself on more than one occasion; coppers caught the killer – they didn't go about doing their jobs for them.

Heart in his mouth, Gene knocked the door, shoving his hands into his pockets and gulping hard, hearing the strong "come in" as it drifted towards him. After taking one deep breath, clenching his fingers in his pockets, and attempting to calm his raging heartbeat, he pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar blue coloured room and feeling a bitter wave of sickness overtake him- he hoped desperately that he wouldn't throw up.

"Hunt," Superintendent Jackson said, his voice cold as he nodded his head sourly, before indicating the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

---

Vomit seemed imminent as Gene looked at the callous man before him; he saw nothing but bitter resentment, disappointment, complete shame... And the worst thing, Gene realised, was that he understood only too well that he deserved it, that if it was the other way round, he'd be sinking his fists into the other mans stomach so fast that there wouldn't even be time to say 'traitor', or 'cop-killer', or whatever else they'd call him, because he'd be coughing up blood like a frog with tuberculosis. He wanted to speak, but the knowledge of what he realized he deserved caused the words to catch in his throat, refusing to break through the harsh barrier that his lips had become as he found himself both desperately wishing for that punishment, and simultaneously dreading it..

Gene knew that this was what Jackson wanted; he wanted him to feel about as big as an ant and quiver in his boots, think up all of the worst things that could possibly happen to him and find himself fearing them with every fibre of his being. He'd used the same trick on people so many times it was baffling, but this was different; he'd never understood before, but somehow he found himself thinking that the punishment couldn't possibly be worse than acquittal. He'd been in this position before, and been willing to fight tooth and nail to get himself out of it... but this was worse; when he'd been accused of murder back in Manchester he hadn't been sure it was his doing, but this time- he gulped.

This time, he knew for certain that it had been his bullet that committed the crime, his bullet that tore into flesh and caused blood to spill. There was no denying that he deserved all the loathing that was piling rapidly up against him, and he wondered if Jackson could possibly understand how much he needed it, craved it, wanted it desperately... Because at least then he could feel less as though he were walking away from his responsibilities, from his mistakes; at least then, there would be no falsehood or deception...

But even amongst the dire craving for self-punishment of the bitter old DCI he had become, the naive young copper at the back of his mind - the nineteen year old before he took his first back-hander, the one who was whiter than white and was constantly seeking the approval and respect of his superior officers – hated himself for it; he hated the position in which he found himself, being scorned by a man who should be able to respect him, trust him, rely on him to be a good enforcer of the law, an example to the others on his team and under his command- he hated himself.

He wanted to be the good copper he'd signed up to be- the one who would never, not once in a million years, allow a scrotal little scumbag to get away with crime in favour of an easy name now and again.

He wanted to be the one that turned around and protected his other officers, the one who was willing to lay down his life to stop them coming to any harm, to put them before himself in the heat of the moment.

He wanted to be the sort of copper kids could look up to, who parents could trust, and who his colleagues could respect...

And here he was; dressed in clothes still smeared with his own DI's blood, with his gun in the evidence room down the hall, and an office full of colleagues who were probably collecting money in a tin for flowers to send to Alex at the hospital; 'With all our best wishes', it would read. And beneath it, they would all sign their names... and he knew that his signature would not be among them.

"You should be pleased to hear that DI Drakes condition is stable; she's still in a deep state of coma, but she isn't dead." The Superintendents words were blunt, coarse, and chosen to hit Gene hard; it worked. He flinched away from them as though a whip had been cracked an inch from his face, a large, seemingly immoveable lump forming in his throat as he tried his best to maintain eye contact. The brown eyes that looked back at him were unfaltering and accusatory, and the disappointment in them was evident. With his gaze narrowed, the Superintendent leant forwards on his desk, a cigarette appearing – apparently from nowhere- in his hand, ignited by the fancy lighter he procured from his blazer pocket as he spoke.

"I'm sure Carling told you on the phone, but we've had a witness testify that you were trying to save DI Drake when the bullet was fired..." He paused, taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling slowly before continuing. "Now, I don't know whether it was a faulty weapon, or whether you flinched like an amateur and pulled the trigger by accident- I don't want to know, either. All I know is that next time you make a death threat, I won't be so lenient when the officer winds up in a coma with her guts on the street and a police bullet in her stomach – understand? If it wasn't for our witness, and the character references I've received from your colleagues and superiors, you'd be wound up in a cell by now looking at life." His eyes were narrow, searching, and Gene refused to flinch again, not breaking eye contact as he nodded his head, the nervous gulp searing down his throat painfully.

"Yes, Sir," he managed, hearing the crack in his own voice, the self-loathing, the guilt... He didn't know if the Super recognised it as such, but for a moment he fooled himself into believing he saw a shred of rekindled respect dawn in the other mans eyes... Then Jackson had nodded, drawing out a cigarette and handing it to Gene in a companionable manner.

Gene took it slowly, nodding his head in silent thanks; it might have seemed like a less-than-severe bollucking, but he knew every word was true, and the message was plain- do it again, Son, the Super was saying, and I'll string you up like a Christmas turkey and let 'em all at you.

Before releasing the cigarette, Jackson spoke again, his voice soft. "You're expected to be here tomorrow, Hunt; sort yourself out, and come back with a clear head in the morning."

Gene nodded once again, and the small conversation was over the moment the cigarette was in his hand; he was dismissed with a jerk of the head, and he left.

----

The moment he was outside the office, the lighter was out, the cigarette held between shaking fingers at his lips, even before he'd turned down the corridor. He took a swift exit, pausing only to collect the keys to the Quattro from Viv, ignoring the look of mistrust in the other mans eyes before he left the station, his coat flapping behind him as he descended the steps and slid into the familiar front seat, fighting back a wave of nausea at the sight of his driving gloves, now home to Alex's dried blood; he pushed them into the glove compartment, bit back a mouthful of vomit, and then sped off, attempting to forget himself as the engine roared into life.

---

He'd contemplated showing up at the hospital dressed just as he was, wanting so desperately to see her face and make sure the machine was still echoing the soft beat of her heart that he was only around the corner when he glanced down at his overcoat; he was covered in dust, his trousers were filthy, and his shirt was a complete crumpled mess... he looked, in honesty, like the tramp who sometimes sat outside the station and begged for change.

He hadn't shaved, and his five o'clock shadow - though previously as numb as the rest of him- was beginning to itch at his skin painfully. His eyes were shot with blood, and though he didn't feel tired – he didn't truly feel anything at the moment except guilt – he knew he had bags beneath them which would give Santa's sack a run for its money.

He was haggard; he knew it, and he hated it, but as much as he wanted to see her, to be sure she was alive and not just fooling them all, he doubted the nurse would let him in again when he looked as un-presentable as he did now.

With a clenched jaw, and a crack of the knuckles, Gene spun the car around sharply, heading quickly towards the opposite side of town, and his own flat.

----

As he tossed the keys onto the kitchen table, Gene sighed, wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell of damp, at the sight of the undisguised evidence that he only ever came here to sleep, wash and change his clothes. His living room – all but empty except for the single armchair and television set – was cold, dark, and smelt of stale cigarettes. The spare tie that he'd folded a few nights ago lay over the back of the armchair, and he blinked at the realization that he hadn't been here at all since the night that he and Alex had sat so companionably on her sofa, drinking red wine and getting steadily pissed... His fingers traced the silk of the tie lightly, arms braced against the back of the chair as he stared into the black emptiness of the television screen.

The room felt empty, bland, and deserted; the smells and the warmth that inhabited Alex's home were nowhere to be found. He found no comfort in the scent of his flat, no reassurance in the single beer bottle that was knocked over next to his chair, and most definitely nothing in the damp coolness of the fabric on the back of the seat itself; he felt distant, lost, and well and truly alone.

With a sigh, he pushed away from the chair, walking through to the bathroom, stripping off quickly and stepping under the lukewarm water. He washed swiftly, but thoroughly, before getting out, wrapping himself in a towel and drying himself, and then pulling on a pair of boxers and a vest. It was barely fifteen minutes before he was slipping underneath his duvet, and shivering in the chill of the room.

He didn't want to sleep; the idea of what might await him in the dark dredges of his mind was horrifying, and he was terrified of seeing Alex's fallen body again, of watching the colour drain from her skin and the lights fade from her eyes... He shook himself back to the present, attempting to bleach out the sight of her blood on his hand, reaching over to the bedside table and opening the cupboard at its base; the bottle of single malt he kept there was unopened, and had cost him an arm and a leg- he'd not touched it in 4 years, claiming that it was only for emergencies, or celebrations... and although he longed for it to be the latter, he couldn't deny that the cold, aching grief that gripped him would most assuredly classify as an emergency.

He broke the cap, taking the bottle between his lips and drinking deeply; it seared down his throat without pain, and though a small part of his brain registered the taste as being better than his usual, he didn't really take notice, screwing the cap back on and feeling the strong liquor hit his bloodstream, calming him down, slowing his breathing... He placed the bottle down on the table, settling himself onto his side, one arm beneath the pillow, eyes open as he stared at the plain walls of his bedroom, his body numb.

He used to imagine her next to him when he fell to sleep; he used to dream about what it would feel like to hold her in his arms as he drifted into slumber, what her hair would smell like, and how her head would rest perfectly above the pounding of his heart... Today, he couldn't bring himself to think of anything at all.

Inevitable tiredness tugged at his eyelids, and they drooped downwards against his will. He wanted to stay awake, too scared of what he might be led to think of in the unpredictable and unstable fortress of sleep, but his body won out the battle with his mind, and in minutes, with the whiskey he had taken to calm his shot nerves still noticeably soothing in his bloodstream, he was asleep, his fist clenched tight beneath the pillow, the bones of his knuckles cracking with pressure.

---

_She was in her hospital bed, surrounded by flowers- expensive bouquets adorned every surface, with cards from well-wishers, colleagues and friends. A little girl sat on the bed, holding Alex's hand, and she turned to Gene with thunder in her eyes. _

_She was Alex; she had to be. Alex's face, Alex's unmistakeable cheekbones, her delicate nose, her hazel eyes, her brown hair... She was Alex in junior form – she was so familiar, he couldn't possibly be mistaken; Gene gulped. _

_It could have been her daughter, he supposed in hindsight, but he didn't think any more on the subject as she started to rant, her voice identical to Alex's despite the twenty-something years age difference, her arms flying around in the very same mannerism Alex had seemed to master in adulthood._

"_You killed her!" She screamed, "You didn't believe her and you killed her! She's dead because of you!" At the last, the little girl walked forwards, growing several inches taller and jabbing him firmly in the chest. "Are you happy now? Has your little vendetta worn off? It's not her fault you're a misogynistic, alcoholic bastard with a lardy stomach and an obsession with cigarettes! You could have listened to her, couldn't you? Could have asked her to explain before you threw her out, before you took her badge away and left her undefended! Where was the Gene Genie then? Hey?! Where was the Gene Genie when Alex needed him? Off shagging a cheap trollop, weren't you? A pathetic mimic of what you really wanted, because_ she-_" at this, the young Alex jerked her head in the sleeping Alex's direction, "had more sense! She wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth! And now she's dead, and it's your fault! Just because she didn't want you!" _

_The girl disappeared with a crack, and suddenly the room was filled with nurses, each one tending to a different, slowly withering plant, their hands holding onto large watering cans as they slowly tipped them upwards, the water sliding easily out of each individual nozzle... But as Gene watched, the water turned red, thickening slightly, pouring into the soil and turning the deadened white lilies the colour of blood. The nurses all pulled away in the same synchronised motion, scarlet blood dripping onto the sterile white floor as they made to leave, apparently unhindered by the blood they left in their wakes. _

_In the midst of it all, Gene's eyes turned towards the bed; Alex was covered head-to-toe in a white blanket, done in the exact same way he had witnessed a hundred times, whenever a dead body had been discovered at a crime scene. _

_The sheet was clean, except for the rapidly spreading patch of red above the stomach; it began as nothing but a small drop, but as his eyes fixed upon it, it seemed to grow, seeping into the blanket, turning the whole thing a deep, bloody scarlet... Vomit rose in his throat, and the young girls' words echoed in his ears – "you killed her! You killed her! It's your fault!"_

_The room disappeared around him, but still the tirade continued, the words growing louder, and louder, and louder..._

Gene sat up with a start, the bed sheets sticking to his skin as cold sweat covered his body in a thin sheen, the words still thundering in his ears and echoing ethereally around the room. His chest heaved, and he inhaled sharply, feeling the air rip through his lungs painfully as he did so. His heart was pounding in his ears, the blood pumping so violently that the he could see the veins in his arms pulsating, feel the pressure of each individual thump as he looked at it, his throat tight with guilt as he wondered if his dream had in fact been a reflection of reality; had Alex died?

He'd heard a couple of people in the past suggest that they knew when someone close to them passed away; one had woken in the middle of the night, a few hours before the body of his brother had been found, shooting bolt upright in bed and finding himself unable to sleep until the phone had rung, and the news had been delivered.

The logic behind his assumption was minimal; just because he had woken up was no sign of Alex's fate. It was just after one in the afternoon, and it was a complete rarity for Gene to ever be in bed at this hour, so the fact he had awakened was evidently inconclusive... Nonetheless, he found himself out of bed in a matter of seconds, briefly considering getting dressed straight away, but deciding against it; he stank of sweat and panic, and the last thing he wanted was to waltz in and see Alex with a bad stink to follow his guilty conscience- he went back into the bathroom for another shower.

He washed quickly, not wanting to allow himself time to think; he counted back from one hundred and absently recited song lyrics that he had forgotten he even knew, playing the tunes over and over in his brain in order to counteract the nagging insistence that said he should be thinking of something different, something involving Alex and her wound and-

With a quick movement, he had turned the previously warm shower down to freezing, feeling the cold liquid hit his skin and run in rivulets down his back. He shivered and shook, his whole body going rigid against the chill; he ran the water until he was numb, then jerked it back to hot, still shivering even as the warm water cascaded onto his body. Even when the chill had gone, he could feel himself shaking and quivering,, stepping out and enveloping himself in a large towel, dressing quickly and running a comb through his hair before leaving the flat and clambering back into the Quattro, blasting the radio up to full volume as he pressed his foot down on the pedal and swerved out of its parking spot.

---

The nurse waved him by with a sigh, immediately returning to her duties and busying herself with a stack of paperwork the moment she saw his badge. He hesitated slightly, eyeing the door to Alex's room with trepidation building up in the pit of his stomach. His breakfast was still churning in his gut, and Gene briefly considered that it had been a bad idea to eat when he was so unsure of what to expect of the day ahead. His eyes caught a brief glimpse of red as a nurse moved around within the room, and panic clenched at his chest; a moment later, he'd pushed through the door, his throat dry and hands clamming with sweat as he swept into the room.

He stopped short as the nurse turned around, smiling warmly at him for a few moments, before returning to the careful arrangement of the bright bouquet of red and white roses that stood on the bedside table. He blinked, glancing at Alex; she lay as still as she had the day before, various tubes protruding from her body, the make-up now removed from her skin, hair hanging loosely around her face. The pressure on his heart lessened instantly, and as his eyes drifted down the white blanket which covered her, he saw no sign of blood... He breathed a sigh of relief, walking with renewed slowness towards her bed, his hand resting an inch from hers as he took her in.

She looked beautiful, he realized. Any doubts he might have had about Alex's natural beauty were put to rest in that moment; her hair was shining with its normal brown and hazel glow, her face was peaceful, calm, with her soft lips -though slightly chapped- looking every bit the image of a fairytale princess. It was with an odd, unbidden sense of longing that he found himself wanting to bend down and take those lips with his own, to suck the lower lip between both of his and slowly kiss her back to consciousness, just as they did in all of the most famous fairytales... He looked away, seeing the nurses' tentative smile and tilting his head towards Alex in question.

"How is she?"

The nurse smiled warmly, joining him beside Alex and carefully re-tucking the blankets around her body. "She's stable," she said softly, smiling up at him. "That's a good start."

"How long 'til she... y'know..?" Gene waved his hand absently and gulped, glancing at Alex nervously.

"It's hard to say," the nurse answered sympathetically, and with a tone of complete understanding. "It could be tonight; it could be years. It really is just a case of waiting it out, I'm afraid." She touched his arm lightly, the kind gesture surprising him out of the well of misery he seemed to plummet into at her words; the last thing he had expected after getting Alex stuck here, was to receive kindness and consolidation, least of all from one of the women looking after her. "Talk to her," she said softly, "tell her you're here... I'm sure she'd like to know."

"Ain't like she can 'ear me though, is it?" Gene said sourly, absently touching his thumb to the back of Alex's hand, rubbing gentle patterns into the skin. "Just like talkin' to a shell, ain't it?"

The nurse shrugged, "it's proven to help; sometimes, after people wake up, they say they could hear people talking – that they just needed something to come back to." She smiled again, gently rubbing his arm once more before leaving the room. Gene didn't even glance up as she left, hooking his ankle around the leg of the plastic chair behind him and sinking into it, his thumb still tracing light movements across Alex's hand.

"Is that true, Bolly?" He murmured, watching her face intently, half-expecting a flicker of movement behind the eyes, or the tug of a smile at her lips; there was nothing. "D'you need something to come back to?" he asked softly, glancing down at her hand as he spoke again. "'cause I'm 'ere, Bols... I wanna say somethin'... Gotta say sorry... I mean, I've got a great big bolluckin' to give yer after that an' all, but yer wouldn't wanna miss the Gene Genie apologising..."

She didn't respond, and he sighed, hanging his head and glancing at the card beside the large bouquet of roses. He gritted his teeth as he saw the signature at the bottom, and couldn't resist snatching it up to read.

The card was handmade, with a large smiley face cut from bright yellow card, stuck on the front of a folded piece of red A4 card, a slightly trimmed piece of paper stuck in the middle, with a note written in flowing script that made Gene grind his teeth in annoyance.

_Alex, _

_I was so sorry to hear about your accident- life has been hectic, but as soon as you're out of hospital, you are welcome to come round for dinner with myself and little Alex – she wants to take after you and become a Police Officer when she's older, and would love to see you. Until then, you're in our thoughts._

_Get well soon, _

_Yours,_

_Evan _

Gene might have been tempted to screw the damn thing up and set it on fire, except for the small scrawl of Alex Price set beside her godfathers' name, followed by three large kisses, and a smiley face. He felt his lip twitch at the sight, and gently placed the card back down, although he turned it around enough that the inside wasn't visible from his position in the chair. He looked back at the sleeping Alex, the sight of her cracked lips wrenching his gut as they seemed to bleed slightly. Without thinking, he reached over, brushing the small droplet away with a tender touch, convincing himself that she would wake up, just as she had in Chaz Kale's restaurant when he touched her cheek... She didn't move.

He sighed, glancing at the droplet of scarlet on his thumb, a fresh wave of guilt threatening to crush him into oblivion. Somehow, he found that the delicate helplessness of her lying here peacefully was worse than when she had been bleeding on the floor, her mouth agape, her gasping so pronounced to his ears that he had wanted to cover them up, to stop himself hearing her painful murmurs, her half-sobs of desperation... He tucked his thumb gently around hers, tracing the length of her delicate hand with its tip as he shifted slightly closer to the bed, teeth piercing his lip as he fought desperately to find the words to speak, to apologise, to bring her back...

"Bols..." he started, his voice cracked and strained as he tightened his thumb around hers. "I need yer to-"

At that moment, the door opened, and a second later Gene was on his feet, two metres back from the bed, his hands shoved guiltily in his pockets as Shaz tentatively poked her head around the door, still dressed in her work uniform; he realized, with a pronounced wave of gratitude, that she'd taken a break to come here. She smiled at him nervously, stepping into the room with a large bouquet of lilies in her hands, which she tenderly placed on the bed as she looked at Alex nervously, the silence descending on them as Gene nervously looked at the floor, his hands still deep in his pockets, Adams apple rising and falling as he gulped. Shaz glanced worriedly from him to Alex before she spoke, her voice almost nervous as she addressed him.

"Y'know, Guv," she said softly, "what they say 'bout being able to hear people when you're- when you're in a coma, like... it's true, y'know?"

Gene snorted, stepping slightly closer to the bed and looking resolutely at Alex's face as Shaz spoke. "Sure it is." He muttered. "An' I'm bloody Brit Ekland."

Shaz looked at him carefully, a sad smile on her lips. "It's true," she said softly, turning her gaze to Alex as she murmured, "I could hear everythin' people were sayin' to me when I was stabbed – not so clear with Ma'am an' Ray, but could 'ear Chris clear as day..." she risked a careful glance at his worried face before murmuring softly to him, "she can probably hear you clearest an' all, Guv."

Gene's head shot up, his eyes seeking out Shaz's, only to have her avert her gaze and quietly address Alex. "Bought you some flowers, Ma'am," she said, her voice soft as she smiled down at Alex's sleeping form. "From all of us – even Ray chipped in a bit! Gunna go get you a vase... but the Guv's here; he's gunna talk to you while I'm gone." She sent him a nervous, yet similarly encouraging smile, patting Alex's wrist lightly before leaving the room, not daring to glance back.

Gene stared at her retreating form for a brief moment, before slowly shifting closer to the bed, returning his hand to its previous position next to hers, his thumb tucked once again around her own as he ventured to speak, voice cracking nervously. "She right, Bols?" He asked, slowly sinking himself back into to chair he had abandoned, his lips and throat dry as he spoke. "Can you 'ear me? 'cause I don't much fancy sittin' 'ere like a lummox if yer gunna lie there an' snore for a couple o' days..." He glanced towards the door, seeing Shaz talking quietly with one of the nurses; there was no vase in her hands, and so he assumed she would be a few minutes yet. Turning back to Alex, he spoke again. "Granger thinks yer can 'ear me, Bolly... an' I dunno if she's talkin' out of 'er arse or not, but... well... if yer can..." he tentatively slid his hand under hers, closing his fingers gently on her hand as he went on, "if yer can, squeeze me 'and... just... just squeeze it, 'ey?" He waited, looking down at their joined hands for a moment, feeling a wave of mixed emotions; warmth, happiness, joy, bitterness, guilt, aching pain, yearning... He wanted her to awaken, wanted her to come back to him – just him, he realized – and find their hands entwined... Subconsciously, he squeezed at her delicate hand, still transfixed by the simple knowledge of how well they fit together.

It shouldn't have surprised him; he'd held her hand before, though never for quite so long. Always for brief snatches of time, one of them desperately trying to prevent the other from jumping headlong into a life-threatening situation... The memory of the way she had grasped at his hand in Luigi's the very night Shaz had been stabbed leapt to the forefront of his mind, and he gulped, squeezing her fingers lightly once again. He was well aware of the fact her hand was smaller and more delicate than his own, and that his own hand could envelop hers without really trying. He remembered back to the kitchen only weeks ago, where she had collapsed on the floor and relented to being lifted to her feet by his hand in hers, tugging her upwards and into his arms... He ground his teeth slightly, before turning back to her, his hands clamming slightly as sweat gathered.

"I'm sorry, Bolly... I'll come see yer tomorrow." He stood up quickly, hesitating slightly before he delivered a gentle, tentative pat to Alex's wrist, holding his hand in place for a few moments before he made to leave. As if on cue, Shaz entered the moment he reached the door, clasping a glass vase in her fingers.

"See yer tomorrow, Granger," Gene murmured, nodding curtly at her as he went to leave. Shaz smiled shakily, trying to meet his eyes.

"You could always come down to Luigi's, Guv," she said quietly, looking at him with knowing eyes. He looked down, nodding at the sudden realization that they all knew where he had spent the night; with a quick glance at her face, however, he saw nothing but complete understanding – there was no judgement, no blame, just complete sympathy... He hated it.

A moment later, he'd turned away, leaving the door to swing shut behind him as he turned down the corridor. He didn't miss Shaz's sigh as she turned back to Alex and covered her hand, and nor did he miss the words that left her mouth as she did so.

"Come back soon, Ma'am; the Guv's gunna tear himself to pieces at this rate."

**----**

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**

**Big thank you to Feline for beta-ing :)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	5. Detached

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Thanks for all the encouragement so far, once again.**

**Hopefully, you'll like it! **

**----**

Gene did end up at Luigi's, though not because he truly wanted to be there. It had become such a habitual part of his life that spending a night away from it was always odd, and with everything else on his mind, and the silence of his flat pressing down on his ears whenever the TV faltered, he found himself behind the wheel of the Quattro and speeding across town to join the rest of the team with a sense of uncanny need.

He knew, better than he cared to admit, that what he needed the most was company, and that while he moped around in his own flat, he would be forced to dwell on the events of the last two days, and whatever abuse he might receive in Luigi's –verbal, physical, or otherwise, he knew it would be better than the stupendous mess he would get himself into if he spent the night drinking alone in his flat.

When he entered, he was surprised to find that only Ray, Chris and Shaz were there, all sat around a table with half-finished drinks in front of them. It was Chris who looked up, nodding at Gene almost nervously as he pushed out the spare chair at their table, standing up and moving to order a whiskey double. Ray inclined his head in a companionable manner, and Gene sank willingly into the spare seat, taking the whiskey from Chris's fingers almost hesitantly; their eyes met, and Gene could see the worry, the uncertainty in the younger mans eyes, and could only nod, hoping that it would be enough...

He saw a flicker of guilt, and then Chris had nodded in return, sitting himself gingerly beside Shaz, whose hand fell reassuringly to his thigh, twining their fingers together. Gene sighed, throwing the whiskey down his throat in a quick motion and blinking in surprise when Luigi placed a pint of beer on the table before him.

He looked up, meeting the Italians sad eyes as Luigi spoke softly, "you no blame yourself, Signor Hunt," with a nod towards the beer, he murmured, "on the house."

Gene gulped, nodding and averting his eyes as Luigi solemnly inclined his head and bustled away. He knew the other three were watching him, knew they wanted him to talk, to confirm that their faith in him hadn't been misplaced, that he really hadn't meant to shoot her... He looked at Ray, who was smoking a cigarette with deliberate slowness, his eyes suddenly fixing on his whiskey. Shaz and Chris were both eyeing their joined hands when he turned to them, and Gene couldn't help but sigh sadly at the peculiar loneliness that settled in his stomach at the renewed alienation between himself and his colleagues.

He picked up his drink, glugging it down quickly before nodding at Luigi for a refill. The silence was tenuous and strained, and it was eventually Gene who, following the downing of his second beer, broke it, cracking his knuckles briefly.

"Right you dozy lot," he muttered, "fill me in – what've I missed?"

Shaz and Chris exchanged a wary glance, and Gene attempted to ignore it, averting his eyes and looking at Ray, who, to Gene's immense gratitude, sent a withering look at the others before speaking. "We've got a kidnap, Guv. Kiddies been gone two days; 'er Mam lost 'er down the Post Office yesterday, then got a ransom note through 'er door last night... The 'usbands a big businessman, an' the kidnapper wants twenty grand ransom money, else 'e cuts off a finger and raises the price. Drop off points the old abandoned warehouse down Bakers Street, 'cept we ain't meant to be involved; he's told 'em not to get the cops in else the hand comes off an' all, so she don't even know we're onto it..."

Gene frowned, beckoning for another drink as he frowned at Ray. "If she don't know we're onto it, then 'ow do we know anythin' about it in the first place?"

"Snouts," Ray said, shrugging. "Old Jimmy Carris lives by the warehouse, an' 'e rang up saying there was a little girl, blonde 'air, little chubby and wearin' a flowery dress, with pumps on 'er feet, screamin' for her Mam, and fer the letter she was gunna send to her Nana, getting pulled along by some bloke... Then 'er Old Man came in to the station dressed like a tramp an' wearin' a fake beard, sayin' his Missus didn't know 'e was there, and we weren't to tell 'er." Gene raised his eyebrows, taking another swig, but saying nothing as Ray continued on. "Anyways, he said they were takin' the money, but 'e wants us to 'elp catch the bugger who nabbed his little girl."

Gene nodded in understanding. "Carris got a description of the kidnapper?"

Ray shrugged, and shook his head. "'e says not, Guv; says the girl was more important."

"Useless bugger," Gene muttered, pressing his fist against his mouth before nodding. "So, what's the plan, Raymondo?"

"Super's okayed us going in, s'long as we're careful and don't make it obvious we're coppers till we need to." Ray lit a cigarette, and then went on. "'e wants Chris and Shaz walkin' by like newlyweds-"

"Oh bloody hell," Gene sighed, shaking his head. Ray shrugged sympathetically before continuing.

"Wants 'em to just act like passers-by an' only do somethin' in an emergency. Then-"

"So we're gettin' people to walk in front of an _abandoned_ warehouse?" Gene asked, disbelief evident on his face and in his tone. Ray nodded, giving another quick shrug.

"Super's orders, Guv."

"Bloody twat," he muttered. With a heavy, reluctant sigh, Gene downed his drink, and waved for another two, ignoring the worried looks on the other three's faces as he gulped them down in quick succession.

----

An hour later found Gene disorientated and depressed, slumped over the bar with his head on his arm as Ray slurred something meaningless about football, and women, and some insane combination of the two that Gene couldn't quite get his head around.

The numbness that often came with alcohol had dissipated away, and as Ray rambled on and on, the drink still flowing smoothly, though with less appreciation than before, Gene could feel it simply acting as amplification to the aching pain in his chest and gut. The solemnity with which he had entered the evening had multiplied tenfold, and his already depleted sense of self-worth had diminished entirely, disappearing into the back of his mind as his entire being recalled the scene of Alex's shooting with frightening clarity. Somehow, the alcohol made the colours ridiculously vivid, everything but Alex becoming so unwittingly blurred, with only her perfect form holding any sense of realism at all, and he deluded himself, for a horrifying moment, into thinking it was happening all over again. The blood on her clothes was vibrant and corrosive to his gaze, and even though he could see Ray waving his arms around drunkenly in the corner of his eye, and could tell that Chris and Shaz were busy flirting in the corner of the restaurant, he knew nothing more clearly than the fact that, once again, his nightmare was reliving itself.

Even with the tried and tested methods of company and alcohol, he had failed to chase it away.

He was so completely drunk that it was baffling; he shouldn't be able to think of his own name, let alone make a conscious replay of his worst moments so perfectly clear before his eyes. The knowledge was terrifying, and with fumbling fingers, he reached into his pocket, searching for a cigarette with severe difficulty, his large, usually adept fingers fumbling in the packet, managing to snap one in half and remove the filter from another before he succeeded in lifting one free.

He grumbled his annoyance with hopelessly incoherent words, earning himself a strange look from Ray, before the DS muttered, quite bluntly, and with as much tact as the average elephant, "yer pissed, Guv. Bloody pissed."

Gene couldn't even bring himself to argue. He grunted a half-hearted insult of "bloody twonk," which may or may not have emerged simply as a drunken flurry of syllables, before struggling to put the cigarette to his lips, finally opting to place his head on the bar, chin flat against the cool wooden surface, face tilted slightly as he tried to place the end into the flame of his lighter.

It was Shaz who took pity on him, seeing the drunken mess that he was as he tried to light the cigarette with his arm half a metre away, walking over and drawing the lighter from Gene's fumbling fingers, lifting it to the cigarette with a sympathetic smile. He tried to smile in gratitude, but the cigarette threatened to slip and he roughly pulled himself back up, swaying slightly in his chair as he closed his fingers around the offending cigarette, nodding at Shaz through glazed eyes. She glanced worriedly at Ray, and then sat herself on Gene's other side, watching in concern as Gene turned around in his chair, almost toppling off as he pointed a finger at her.

"Yer a clever girl, Granger... clever girl," he jerked his head so far in Chris' direction that he nearly fell over, catching himself just in time as he prodded her gently in the shoulder. "That plonk over there- that one! Tha' bloke is a _bloody_ lucky shit! An' if 'e turns aroun', an' sticks a bullet in yer gut, make sure you punch 'im in the gob- someone's bloody got to!" He lifted his newly filled whiskey, with a strange mock-toast at Shaz, before he tossed the drink back down his throat with drunken flourish.

"Maybe we should get you home, Guv," Shaz murmured worriedly. "I'll call you a cab."

"Ain't bloody going home," Gene muttered, slamming his glass down. "Don't need motherin', Granger; jus' need a bloody miracle." He looked at her through bleary eyes. "She ain't wakin' up, y'know?"

"I'll call you a-"

"No," Gene sighed, pushing his glass away and burying his face in his hands. "Not going anywhere... Only do summit stupid if I do..."

"Guv, the nurse said-"

"Nurses-schmurses," he muttered, rubbing his eyes bleakly. "Don't know their ear from their elbow; 'bout as useful as a florist an' all... in fact, y'know wha', tha' bird in there this afternoon looked like one an-"

"Guv, they said she looks positive..." Shaz was tentative, and then looked away. "Said she might make a full recovery – just needs a bit of a rest, that's all."

Gene snorted, shaking his head and feeling the world spin slightly. "I'm pissed, Granger," he conceded, "but I ain't that pissed." He stood up with difficulty, swaying on the spot for a few moments before pushing away from the bar, stumbling unevenly towards the door, knocking into several dining tables as he went. He staggered out into the hallway, moving towards the stairs without really thinking. He was halfway up when Luigi appeared behind him, shaking his head.

"Signor Hunt, you are very drunk!"

"Ain't drunk, Luigi," Gene grunted, pulling himself up the stairs using the banister and wondering when his feet had decided to treble in size, "I'm bloody pissed out o' me skull!"

He was somewhat surprised when the stout man put one hand beneath his armpit and heaved him – with a huge effort, if the grunt he let out was anything to go by- to his feet, keeping him reasonably steady as Gene began to descend the stairs again, swaying slightly. "You are very drunk, Signor," Luigi repeated, shaking his head sadly. "Signorina Drake would not like me leave you by your own in the streets, so you may stay tonight." He tapped on the familiar door to Alex's flat, and Gene slumped against it, absently slapping the other man on the arm in an effort to show gratitude.

"You have the key, Signor," Luigi said, raising his eyebrow in something that might have been frustration, or might have been simple amusement; in his drunken state, however, Gene could quite easily have mistaken joy for misery, and could only nod, absently fumbling in his back pocket and drawing out the key.

"Right y'are," he muttered, nodding and turning to put the key in the lock. "Sorry 'bout that... should prob'ly arrest meself... wouldn' be so bad, actually... d'you wanna repor-?"

Luigi interrupted with a shake of his head. "No, Signor, you do not go to prison by me. Signorina Drake would never forgive me. Goodnight." He turned and walked down the stairs, his round form descending slowly. Gene barely managed to lift his hand in farewell before he stumbled through the door to Alex's flat, nearly crashing into the wall and steadying himself only just in time.

"Bloody piss'ead," he muttered, staggering through into the living area and slumping onto the sofa. "Couple o' whiskeys an' yer pissed as a- as a- as a piss'ead." He sighed, flopping onto his side, head resting on the cushion that smelt of Alex's hair, his arm sliding beneath it unconsciously and holding it tighter against his face. His eyes closed, the warm scent of her drifting through the alcohol-induced haze, his whole body suddenly feeling calmer, lighter, and terrifyingly more sober. He clenched his eyes shut, focusing only on the smell, his mind awash with images and memories of the feel of her in his arms...

The hooker costume was the first thing that came to mind; the bright red dress, the stockings, the heels, the fluffy coat... and his arms around her, holding her tight into his chest, one arm under her leg, the other firmly behind her back. He remembered the dead weight of her, the gentle scent of perfume that smelt so much more expensive than any other Tom's he'd met. He remembered the bounce of her curls as he carried her into the station, the look in her eyes when they were stood alone in the evidence room, his hand on her breast, hers pressed gently against the pounding of his own heart... He remembered the glint of anger, the disbelief, the utter vulnerability and confusion as she stared at him...

He thought on, his nose burying itself deeper in the fabric of her cushion as he did so. He recalled the feel of her held tight against him in the sweltering heat of the vault, and remembered the sheen of sweat that had coated her body like a second skin, and how, for a few moments, before the door had burst open, he had considered what it might have felt like to pull her into his lap, to feel her skin pressed against his as he kissed her... He remembered the touch of her fingers on the chain that still hung around his neck, and the gentle caress of her hand as she placed it once again over the fast-paced beating of his heart...

He remembered that terrifying moment in Chaz Kale's restaurant, where his hands were on her chest and her heart was threatening never to beat again. He recalled the moment where his decision to claim her lips had overtaken him, where his head and his heart could both have gleaned the same precious desire, only to have it taken away, with overwhelmingly welcome relief, when she opened her eyes and lifted her hand to his cheek. He remembered the icy chill of her fingers, and the inevitable urge to turn his face and press his lips to her wrist. He recalled the way her face had cupped so easily into his hand as he gazed down at her, his whole body swamped with such enormous gratitude it had taken him several moments to be able to speak again...

And he remembered, as he drifted into slumber, the words she had spoken in the interview room, her face barely inches from his own for those few perfect seconds, before Shaz had broken the moment, pushing open the door as though nothing were amiss. He remembered the look of warmth and need in her eyes, and the perfect shaping of those gorgeous red lips, as she whispered the words that had played over and over in his mind for weeks; "let me in."

---

He woke a few hours later, in desperate need of the toilet, his bladder threatening to burst; he got up and he stumbled through to the bathroom, apparently still reeling with the effects of the alcohol he had thought might have left his system. The flush of the toilet was loud in the silence of the flat, and he flinched away from the sound as his head pounded in pain, washing his hands briefly under the cold tap of the sink, his whole body swaying as he staggered through the door and into the next room.

He didn't make it back to the sofa, and a few moments later, he collapsed drunkenly onto Alex's bed, half-heartedly tugging the duvet over him, the cool red silk calming and therapeutic as he closed his eyes and surrendered once more to sleep, her scent invading his mind and his senses as he drifted away.

---

_She walked across to him where he lay, sprawled on his back across the sofa, whiskey in hand, one eye on the television, the other on her- the gentle sway of her hips, the curves of her breasts in that low-cut top that made him want to combust with desire, the tight grip of her jeans on those perfect legs.... As she moved, he trained his gaze on her alone, eyes slowly and luxuriously moving up and down, scrutinizing the perfection of her figure, the way her body flowed so smoothly as she came across to him, settling her incredible body alongside his own, her smell intoxicating him, the warmth of her body a welcome assurance as she settled close to him, her hand rested above the steady thump of his heart as she smiled up into his eyes. _

"_Bad day?" She whispered, pressing a lingering, gentle whisper of a kiss to his roughly stubbled cheek._

"_Not the best," he murmured in reply, tugging her closer into the circle of his arms, lips teasing across her forehead as he went on, voice husky with warmth and desire, "make it better?"_

_She smiled, twining her fingers around his and standing up, tugging him towards the bedroom before pulling him in for a heated kiss._

_She tasted of wine, of pasta, and of spice; he tugged her closer, tighter, needing to taste her, to savour her, to imprint the incontestable assault on his senses to memory. His arms were around her, hands on her blouse, slipping each button free, his heart pounding, head spinning..._

_In the minutes that followed, their clothes were shed in a tangle of limbs as they fell forward onto the red silk of the bed sheets, mouths locked as their bodies came together, wrapped in another hot kiss, another heated embrace... _

---

When Gene woke again, he closed his eyes tight against the warm light infiltrating the room through the small crack in the curtains on the opposite side of the bedroom. He felt warm, snug, surrounded by the soft fabric of the duvet, Alex's scent in his nostrils, face pressed into the pillow, a smile on his lips, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up and go to work. He shifted slightly, the smell of her consuming him, and without thought he reached across to the left, his arm searching for the naked heat of her skin, for the gentle pleasure of tugging her into his chest and feeling her nuzzle lightly at his neck with her nose. His hand hit the cool mattress on the other side, and he frowned, eyes still closed, hand still seeking the evading warmth of her skin, and tracing the empty, cold dip in the mattress where she should have been...

His eyes flew open a moment later, and he drew his arm back so fast that it was as though he had been burnt. He bolted upright in an instant, looking around himself in horror as he took in the surroundings, as memory flooded back to him; the dream that had so blissfully tormented his mind abating instantly, guilt and horror flooding through him at the realization that he could have forgotten, that he overlooked his horrific deed and deluded himself into thinking that she was with him, that she would be there by his side when he awoke, that she would ever have considered it in the first place...

He threw the covers back, practically leaping from the bed, stumbling into the bathroom, his clothing shed and his body beneath the shower only moments later, the warm water flooding over him as he scrubbed himself raw, trying with all his might to forget the perfect illusion that his dream had provided, the flawless impersonation that had left him feeling so wholly complete... He slammed his fist against the wall, stepped out of the shower, and shrugged back into his clothes after swiftly towelling himself dry.

He glanced briefly at the clock on the bedside table as he left the bathroom, blinking; it was only half seven. He glanced out of the window into the street; it was sunny, but deserted, and a few minutes later he'd brushed his teeth with one of the spare toothbrushes Alex always kept in her cupboard, snatched up his coat, and was down the stairs, keys in hand.

Ten minutes later, he turned into the hospital car park.

---

At the door to Alex's room, Gene paused, looking through the glass panel at her sleeping form; more flowers had been placed strategically around the room, covering every available surface with floral decor that he would normally have turned his nose up at. Today, however, he nodded in approval, glad that she had been thought of, that she had people to send her flowers... He'd never really thought about it, but apart from Evan, the only people she talked to were her colleagues- it would seem, however, that she had made an impact. Or, he thought bitterly, that they were all so shocked by his actions that it seemed the only humane thing to do.

He stepped into the room, standing at the foot of the bed for several minutes and watching her where she lay; his senses zeroed in on her, and for a few moments there was nothing but her – her scent, the sight of her, the way her blankets felt beneath his fingers... He stood there for a while, content to simply stand in her presence, until, finally, he walked around the bed, stopping at her side and pulling the chair towards him, his other hand tentatively reaching to stroke away a stray lock of hair which had fallen across her eyes, presumably after a gust of wind from the window to her left, which allowed the slightest of breezes into the small room.

His hand froze on her cheek, his throat going into spasm as he gulped repeatedly, subconsciously moulding his large hand to the surprisingly cool skin of her face. His eyes darkened with longing, need and warmth, and he found himself settling onto the mattress, ignoring the chair he had deliberately dragged forwards, and trailing his other hand down her arm. He shivered slightly, the brief contact proving overwhelmingly bittersweet, his fingers tracing down past her wrist and pausing as his long digits came into contact with her own smaller, more delicate ones.

Gene hesitated then, watching her face as though for a warning, a sign that this was nothing like what she wanted... he wanted her to awaken, tell him to remove his hand and get the hell away from her, while at the same time, all he wanted to do was hold her hand in his own and apologise profusely for every smutty, indecent and insulting thing he had ever said or done to offend her.

The thumb on her cheek traced downwards, caressing the smooth, yet slightly dry skin, moving to the roundness of her lips, the lump in his throat trebling in size. The flesh of her lower lip was flaky and raw, as though at any moment it might crack and bleed. His thumb rested on it lightly, his eyes fixed on her face, the fingers of his other hand twining tentatively around hers.

"Wake up, yer daft cow," he said softly, briefly glancing out into the corridor and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that there was nobody there who might see fit to interrupt. He turned back to her, moving the hand on her face into her hair, combing through the soft, natural curls with a delicate touch in his fingers that he wasn't sure he had ever used before. Stupid, he reasoned, that the only time he could show her his feelings was when she was conked out on a hospital bed, with no real proof that she could even hear or feel anything that he said or did. His fingers tangled lightly in her hair as he spoke again, his breathing heavy as he searched for words.

"Look, Bols," He said finally, "I know I said yer needed to wake up 'cause they thought I shot you... well, they don't think I did anymore... I mean, they think I shot you, but they know I didn' mean to, 'cept... well... I need yer to wake up an' all... didn' only want yer 'cause yer might clear me name, I just- well... I didn' know 'ow to tell yer." He looked around the room, eyes fixed on a large bouquet of flowers he couldn't put a name to, in an assortment of bright colours, with a card beside the vase that was just readable from where Gene sat, and was signed with flourishing handwriting and a large, over-exaggerated kiss; it was from Luigi. He couldn't help but smirk as he turned back to her.

"You've got flowers, love- bloody loads of 'em an' all! It's like a bloody rainforest in 'ere – keep snoozing much longer I might bring yer a monkey to jump about the place... That'll wake you up..."

He watched her face for any sign that she might have heard him; the roll of her eyes beneath her closed lids, perhaps? Or the twitch of her lips that said she wasn't allowing herself to laugh at his stupid attempt at humour, even though they both knew she was grinning on the inside... Neither showed, and Gene's heart sank as he glanced at the clock on the wall; quarter to nine. He'd been here over an hour, and he'd barely managed to say a hundred words. He glanced at their hands, still joined at her side, and was quietly pleased that, where her skin had been cold and chilly before, it was now warmer, felt more alive... He smiled half-heartedly, and went to stand, gently extricating his fingers from hers and placing her hand back down on the bed. His other hand remained buried in the abundance of curls on her head, and for a moment, he could only stand there, bent slightly as his hand maintained contact with her skin, before, without really thinking, he leaned closer, gently touching his forehead to hers, feeling the gentle brush of her sleeping breath against his face causing him to still in his tentative caress of her hair.

After a few moments, he drew slightly back, face ten inches from hers, breath gently stirring her hair, making it move slightly as he spoke, his voice surprisingly emotional. "See yer later, Sleepin' Beauty," he murmured. Then he stood up, walking towards the door and sparing only a small backward glance at Alex, before he exited the building, ignorant of the slightly faster pulsing of the heart monitor.

----

Alex lay awake in the dim light of early morning, the room turned an odd shade of grey as the sun began to rise up for the world outside; she couldn't bring herself to move, let alone join in with the hustle and bustle of 2008 London. Her heart beat slowly in her chest, the plain smell of washing powder prominent in her nose, oddly discomforting as she shifted uncomfortably in the cold, unfamiliar bed.

I should get up, she told herself repeatedly.

She should spend the day with Molly, with the daughter she'd thought never to see again, and show her how much she cared... but she couldn't bring herself to do anything at all. The idea of leaving the private sanctuary of her bed – however plain, cold, modern and discomforting it may be – was alarming and terrifying.

She could hear the distant lull of Molly's music as she got dressed, the news on the television as Evan prepared for work, and the barking of dogs next door... and that was enough; to leave the bed would be to alert herself to all of the technological differences she had become so used to living without. She didn't want to see a mobile telephone, or a computer, or an iPod, and nor did she want to see the ridiculously advanced graphics of the television, the incredible modern day architecture of the world broadcast proudly on the forty-two inch screen that should have been a small black box that crackled and jarred when the wind blew the slightest bit too hard.

She didn't want any of the modernised gadgets she had once admired; the thought of anything from this decade at all made her want to panic and hyperventilate.

She couldn't bring herself to leave the eighties behind her; everything she saw brought with it a startling comparison, a wonderful and yet simultaneously awful recollection of one man who didn't seem to be able to leave her mind at all.

Discovering for good that Gene had really existed made her heart ache; knowing they had lived alongside one another, knowing that somewhere, somehow, she had really been a part of his existence, made her want to cry. The idea of pushing his memory aside now felt disrespectful and wrong; it had been bad enough before, where she had convinced herself he was simply an imaginary construct in an over-stimulated brain, but now... now she craved his presence, needed to know he was alive, that he was ok...

And sat here, in the privacy of her room, where she had no responsibility but to get better, she could convince herself that he was with her, could close her eyes and remember the sweet scent of him – whiskey, cigarettes, Old Spice, cinnamon, man-stink, washing powder and soap- washing over her.

As she let herself drift into that beautiful place between awake and asleep, she could remember the warmth of his arms, and the low, husky growl of his voice... She sighed, hugging her pillow against her chest and feeling a warm breeze against her skin from the open window, for a moment convincing herself that it was him, practically tasting the mint of his toothpaste and the warmth of his drink... She felt herself smile, felt her body respond familiarly to the imagined closeness of him, could imagine him speaking to her, touching her, holding her...

"See yer later, Sleeping Beauty," he said, his voice full of emotion and meaning as it surrounded her. Her heart rate quickened, a smile tugging at her lips for the briefest of moments, the warm wind teasing across her face once again, then disappearing suddenly, leaving her cold.

A moment later, she opened her eyes, half expecting to see him at her bedside, smirking down at her and ready to make a smutty comment about her state of undress... He wasn't there. She felt her heart sink, felt cold flush her skin as she rolled over, trying to get comfortable, her eyes resting on the window for several seconds, before she frowned, sitting up and feeling the duvet slip down her body.

It wasn't open.

**----**

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**

**Big thank you to Feline for beta-ing :)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	6. Foreign Metal

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**I'm sure you'll all wish to shoot me for this, but I'm afraid there's no 2008-Alex in the next few chapters – it's just Gene for now! I'm so grateful for all of your support so far, and I hope the story continues to be worth the read. Before posting, there was no 08 Alex at all until about five donkey-years down the plotline, but I'm glad it's working alright now that she's been included :)**

**Hope you all enjoyed the Christmas festivities/snow, and that the chapter is to your liking!**

**This chapter's currently unbeta-ed, but I'll update it as soon as the faulty internet has been restored!**

**Until then, all mistakes are my own!**

**----**

CID was bustling when Gene entered, and although he could sense the trepidation with which his colleagues followed each and every one of his movements, when he barked out his orders -in what he hoped to be a reasonable rendition of his usual gruff manner, and which he sensed went far to replace their confidences in his ability and his expertise- they obeyed without hesitation. All at once, they were rushing to do as they were bidden, although Gene still couldn't shake the unease in his person, nor could he ignore the insistent, nagging presence of doubt in the back of his mind, which said that they were only doing as he ordered to prevent winding up in a coma, or with their body on the slab...

He slammed into his office in a poor attempt to displace the doubt, hoping that in bashing around and making as much noise as possible, he could forget the renewed wave of self-loathing and disrespect that threatened to crush him with its weight.

He'd felt himself biting back a wave of nausea and vomit at the sight of Alex's obscurely neat desk as he'd passed it; it had looked desolate, abandoned in the middle of the room, like a blazing beacon to each and every person who came and went, sending off signals in all directions to remind anyone who happened to see it; he, Gene Hunt, had nearly topped his DI.

Amidst the wave of guilt and self-disgust, however, he was shocked and unnerved by the next hit, one of sickness and revulsion, that overcame him as he remembered, all too vividly, the woman he had given himself over to right before that very same desk; Jenette's perfume wafted in his nostrils as the door closed behind him, acrid and vile compared to the warm, spicy scent that had burrowed into his mind and body over the past few hours in Alex's flat, and by her side at the hospital.

Gene's stomach turned, his head spun, and he grabbed a fistful of darts and threw them with anger and rage at the waiting dartboard; one hit double twenty, another hit the five, and the final one bounced off the metal rim and ricocheted onto the filing cabinets with a clatter and a clang. Grinding his teeth, he lashed out with one booted foot, placing a dent in the metal drawer of the cabinet closest to him; his ankle cracked and it hurt like hell, but it didn't go anyway to helping him- he wasn't sure he'd expected it to.

He could feel hatred rising anew in his chest as he considered all that he had allowed to come between himself and Alex; Jenette's poisonous words had wormed there way into his mind, and somehow, her vile, pathetic imitation of Alex's incontestable beauty, had wriggled into the space that had, momentarily, separated he and his DI, ripping asunder all that could and might have been if he'd simply gone home that evening and allowed himself to calm down... But he hadn't had the foresight to leave well enough alone, hadn't taken the time to think about what he was doing, about what he was allowing to slip through his fingers as he acted so callously, or had the sensitivity to consider the woman he would be pushing away...

And now here he stood, in his familiar office, where Alex had so often berated him, or consoled him, or told him where to shove his poxy-bollucks ideas, whilst she lay across town, only just on this side of the thin line between life and death... His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage, pulse thundering in his ears, his whole body fearful and revolted...

He had still found no explanation for his dalliance with Jenette; she had admitted to him, had she not, that she was only interested because her brother was getting banged up? She'd told him that without a trace of hesitation, and yet he'd still listened to her when she tried to turn him against Alex, still believed her when she suggested that the woman who'd saved his bollucks from castration more times than he could count had, for some insane reason, transferred to the other side of the pavement...

He should never have listened; it had made no sense at all, however he looked at it. Because, after all, had he ever really believed that Alex was bent? Deep down, he'd known it was impossible the second after the doubt had formed, but it hadn't stopped him using it as an excuse, as a reason to get back at her, a way to hurt her...

The bastard he had thought to be buried in his past -the one that he had tried to keep dormant within his chest ever since he had met Sam, ever since he had begun to understand once again what it was to be a decent man- knew that the real reason he had considered Jenette's offer – sex, entertainment, and whatever else it was- was that he had wanted to make Alex jealous...

Him; Gene Hunt. The over-the-hill, overweight, nicotine stained, lardy, alcoholic bastard that he was, had, for several brief moments of insanity, believed that Alex Drake – perfect, intelligent, feisty, gorgeous, Alex Drake- could be made to feel jealous if he stuck his tongue down some gobby backstreet tarts throat.

Well, he told himself, reaching straight away for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf nearby, more fool him. Alex had been, and always would be, in a league so far above his own that he became an insignificant dot of existence when she looked at him; he was nothing to her but a colleague.

And suddenly, he realized that the reason he had really ended up with Jenette, wasn't that he honestly believed that he could make Alex feel any significant feelings of loss, jealousy or regret- ot was simply because he'd realised, deep down, as Jenette had settled herself against Alex's desk, that there was no way his DI would ever glance twice at him.

That was it, he thought. In those moments, where he had been silently grieving the bond he had shattered and torn between them, he had simply come to terms, for the first time, with what he should have always known- he would never be good enough for Alex Drake. The best he could hope for was a mimic, a pale comparison that made him feel ill and undeserving of life itself...

Because although he'd been angry with Alex - he'd threatened to kill her, for Christ's sake- he hadn't truly lost the hope for fixing their friendship until Jenette had entered the office; somewhere underneath the thick skin and the brutish facade he'd put on, he'd hoped for Alex to return to him - there, in the dead of night, in the abandoned office where they had waited for Chris to arrive, in the silent room where she had consolidated him as he sat with an innocent girls blood splattered across his shirt, where he'd told her so many times to stop talking bollucks and start talking sense... He hadn't been waiting for Jenette, or anyone else; the reason he had stared so longingly at Alex Drake's desk was because, when the door opened, he had wanted nothing more than for her to walk through to see him and tell him she was lying, simply to protect him, to save him, to make sure neither of them were hurt... But when Jenette had walked in, everything had crashed down around him; the realization that Alex wasn't coming had been enough to turn his world inside out, and he'd taken anything he could get... It was simply ironic that the 'anything' he'd longed for had transmuted into nothing.

The door to his private office opened, and Gene jerked round in shock, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to collect himself, wondering if it was obvious what he'd been thinking before Ray stepped into the room.

"Everyone's ready to get down Bakers Street, Guv," Ray assured him, closing the door in his wake. "Girls name's Alice Tibbett; the Super wants the bastarding kidnapper cuffed an' banged up by lunch." He held out a familiar weapon, and Gene's heart constricted, his hands clamming up and throat drying as his eyes fell to the well-handled black pistol that had stayed at his belt for years.

It was the same as ever; simple barrel, comfortable grip, the same black trigger that had saved his life more times than he could count... it had been fully loaded with six bullets two days previously; he knew if he looked now, there would only be four. Once upon a time, Ray might have tried to replace them, but Gene had made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that nobody was to touch his gun but he himself... Now he wished that he'd not been so stringent in the past.

He glanced at Ray's face, seeing the expectation and sense of comradeship echoed in his blue gaze, and a moment later he reached out, his hands hesitant as he took the familiarly weighted weapon in his hand, hefting it slightly in his palm.

It shouldn't feel awkward to hold it, he realized. He'd shot more people than he could count, saved countless lives, including his own, with this very weapon, and though every time blood was shed it had echoed through his mind for days, it had never been like this. Somehow there was something haunting and eerie about the weapon now; it felt like betrayal of the worst sort- worse than sleeping with Jenette, worse than not believing Alex or hearing her out when she'd tried to talk to him... Since shooting Alex, none of its previous deeds mattered- this gun had somehow become the enemy; to handle it would only add insult to her injury.

He wanted to drop it; it felt as though it was burning his hand, as if, were he to pull the trigger with his finger, it would simply backfire on himself – and it wasn't as though he wouldn't deserve it if it did... He met Ray's eyes again, saw the concern, the crease of his eyebrows, the slight worry in his gaze as Gene failed to relax at the feel of his gun, at the feeling of safety it should have brought with it... He knew he had to act normal, as though nothing were amiss, but it didn't change the fact his hand felt as though it had been dipped in acid and set to light...

He took a deep breath, ignoring the horrific sensation of burning, pushing it to the back of his mind as he gulped, clenched his fist, and attempted to breathe... A moment later, he nodded his head, gulping back panic and self-loathing as he replaced the gun in its holster. Ray nodded back, offering a strange quirk of the lips that looked as though it might have been intended as reassuring, but that in reality reminded Gene of a quacking duck having trouble laying its eggs.

He said nothing, and followed Ray out into the main office, feeling cold sweat trickle down his brow, feeling his hands go clammy, his mouth go dry, hoping against hope that nobody else would notice as he attempted to wet his lips with his coarse tongue...

Something cold and metal touched against his hand, and he jumped, twisting round to see Shaz, dressed in non-uniform and holding a gun out to him that looked as though it were brand new. It was almost identical in make to the weapon that now hung traitorously at his waist, though he knew that it had rarely been fired, except for testing, and wouldn't yet have drawn blood... Shaz was watching him, a sad, understanding smile on her lips as she shrugged her shoulders in sympathy.

Gene blinked, wiping his hand subconsciously across his forehead before gulping, nodding slightly, and reaching for the gun at his waist, unclipping it with a wave of relief. "Thanks, Granger," he muttered, pushing the old gun into her outstretched hand and taking the new one into his; it fit like a glove, felt completely right in his hand, cool and soothing against the burning insistence it had just replaced. "Lock that one away somewhere," Gene ordered gruffly, unable to be courteous as his gratitude welled in his chest... he hoped Shaz understood his true meaning as he went on. "Don't care where- just... anywhere... Don't bloody wanna see it ever again." He shoved the new gun into the holster at his waist, drawing a cigarette from the packet resting in his breast pocket and lighting up before he turned back towards the team.

"What we doing then, Guv?" Chris piped up, sitting nervously on his desk, glancing from Ray, to Shaz, to Gene, with something that might have been worry, or could have been simple confusion... Gene gritted his teeth for a few moments, and then he nodded.

"Let's go catch us some scum!" He said, hoping they didn't notice the wave of nerves as it crested in his stomach, or the way he glanced warily to the side as Shaz disappeared to dispose of his old weapon... Judging by the roar of approval that followed his words, he thought he might have succeeded in fooling them.

----

The warehouse on Bakers Street was worn, damp, and made of brick that looked as though it might crumble at any given moment. The smell of mould hung in the air, and Gene had to wrinkle his nose with distaste as he deliberately sped past, swerving around the next building before parking the car, leaving it and doubling back to crouch in a large alcove across the road from the main warehouse. Ray was at his side, mumbling something incoherent under his breath, just as Shaz and Chris walked down the street hand-in-hand.

A completely unexpected and irrelevant wave of bittersweet jealousy shot through Gene at the sight, shocking him with its intensity as his eyes followed their movements; there was nothing forced about their expressions- they laughed easily and happily, and it looked effortless, like it didn't matter that they were on the job – they weren't faking those smiles, and they weren't faking the looks in their eyes, or the oddly intimate way that one or other of them would reach across to brush at the others clothing... For a heart wrenching moment, Alex's face flashed before his eyes, the feeling of her hand in his suddenly burning at the forefront of his mind as he looked on at the younger couple, wishing with all his might that Alex were here, that eh could- his train of thought was interrupted suddenly as Ray spoke at his side.

"Guv, the Dad's coming down the road," he muttered, nodding towards a short, black haired, bespectacled man, dressed in a smart business suit and holding a large, black briefcase; he was looking around nervously, as though scared of being followed, and Gene's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Who spoke to him yesterday?" He muttered, his eyes never leaving the father of the kidnapped girl, until he had disappeared through the side door of the abandoned building. Gene watched as the other man cast one last glance over his shoulder, skimming the shadows with his eyes, searching for something... For a moment, Gene wondered whether he should walk out, assure the man they'd get his daughter back safe and sound... but then the other man had disappeared, and Gene felt his teeth clench with worry, his mind working quickly as he tried to think.

"Me an' Chris, Guv," Ray replied, risking a small glance at his DCI and grimacing at the look of concentration on his face – before Tyler and Drake, that would have meant he was deliberating how best to knock ten shades of crap out of the suspect they were about to arrest... Now Ray wasn't so sure.

"How was 'e?"

Ray blinked. "Shittin' 'imself, weren't he?"

Gene nodded, chewing on the inside of his mouth for a few moments, waiting for something to happen, glancing around for something... it took him several long minutes to realize just what it was he was searching for.

"Where's the mother?" He asked eventually, casting his gaze quickly up and down the street, before turning to Ray, who stood at his side.

"Not coming, Guv," Ray answered, frowning. "Ain't no place for a bird, is it?"

The radio at Ray's waist crackled, and a moment later Chris' voice sounded; it was only then that Gene realized he and Shaz had disappeared around the far corner, well out of his line of sight. "Car's turnin' in, Guv; it's a red Cortina, an' the girls in the backseat."

"Ruddy bastard," Gene growled under his breath. "That's my bloody car!" At that moment, the car rounded the corner, skidding to a halt in front of the warehouse, with no apparent care for the dustbins it sent flying or the girl in the backseat who shrieked against the cloth which had been stuffed violently in her mouth and bound with tape.

His blood boiling away in his chest, heart pounding in his throat, Gene only just managed to jerk Ray back into the alcove as the DS levelled his gun at the tall, broad-shouldered kidnapper who was dragging the blonde youth from the car. He handled her with a roughness that turned Gene's stomach, a hand clenched firmly on her shoulder, gun pressed hard into the girls back as he jerked and shoved her towards the warehouse.

"Don't bloody shoot!" Gene snapped, looking back at Ray just in time to see his eyes narrow on the kidnapper across the street.

"I've got him, Guv," Ray murmured, finger moving to tighten on the trigger. A moment later, Gene had slammed Ray's hand against the brick wall, watching as the gun flew out of his grasp, clattering onto the floor a few metres away, in the middle of the pavement, perfectly visible if anyone were to glance their way.

Gene's body went rigid as, for a brief moment of terror, he thought the kidnapper had heard, thought that at any moment he'd turn around and see it lying there, bold as brass... His heart hammered away, making all else inaudible for a horrible stretch of time, until, with a breath of relief, he realised that they hadn't been heard, as the kidnapper and Alice Tibbett disappeared into the warehouse.

"I could've got him," Ray started, the moment the side door had closed behind them, but the instant Gene turned his angry gaze on him, he stopped, bowing his head and nodding slowly. "Sorry, Guv."

"You could've shot the bloody girl! Or missed, and then he'd do the bloody job for yer! Don't be a bloody div!"

Ray looked down, grinding his teeth noticeably before nodding again, his face tight. "Right, Guv." He muttered. "Sorry, Guv."

Gene nodded, glancing across the street before reaching for the radio. "Alpha one to all units; Raymondo and myself are moving in. Chris, Shaz, get your arses back round here pronto and make sure nobody gets out of that building 'til we've got the girl back- if the bastard tries to escape, shoot 'im in the bollucks and drive that car over his bloodied knackers!" He switched the radio off quickly, shoving it back into his pocket and lifting the gun from the holster now hanging at his waist. He glanced at Ray, watching as the DS collected his discarded gun from the floor. "Ready?" Gene asked.

"Yes, Guv," Ray murmured, nodding his assent. They both glanced around, checking swiftly for any other passers-by, before walking swiftly across the road, using opposite side doors as various officers appeared from the seemingly abandoned buildings nearby.

"Circle it," Gene muttered in their direction, before pushing into the warehous itself, gun held aloft in front of him.

---

The silence of the warehouse descended on him like a blanket, and he had to stop in his tracks as he adjusted to it all; outside the building, the street had been quiet, with the only noise that reached their ears coming with the distant rumble of the city- main roads, sirens, shoppers and citizens going about their daily business a few streets away- making just enough noise to lull Gene's nerves as he had stood waiting for the kidnapper to appear... But, in here, no sound seemed to penetrate the thick walls, and the surroundings were heavy with muck and humidity, the dirtied air seeming to wheeze through his lungs with great difficulty.

Gene swallowed against the acrid taste in his throat, biting back the desire to heave as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Part of him had expected there to be a light of some sort- a distant flicker of torchlight, perhaps, or the vague luminescent glow of a candle, less noticeable and significant than an electric light, but enough to hint at some sort of existence... But there was nothing; the building was dark, with only vague slithers of daylight breaking through the cracks in the badly boarded up windows, small particles of dirt flitting in and out of their path, twirling and floating down to the floor once again.

Dust was thick in the atmosphere, and Gene found himself covering his mouth with his hand, breathing awkwardly as he tried to avoid sneezing and choking. The floor was coated with many years worth of grime, dust and muck, the culmination of it all muffling his footfalls as he stepped forwards, ears sharp as he listened for any nearby sound, his eyes wide as he tried to see as much as possible in the dim light. There was nothing, but for the vague outline of a slightly off-centre door a little way across the room, which he instantly headed towards. He moved slowly, his gun still held before him, hand steady as he walked across the room, testing the floorboards lightly with each foot before he went on, glad that the wood had not yet aged enough to be creaking.

When he reached the door, it was hanging precariously on its hinges, with one corner worn and moth-eaten, wood and paint flaking off in large clumps. He carefully nudged it aside, slipping through the doorway and breathing a sigh of relief when it stayed silent. He frowned as he stepped through, blinking when he came face-to-face with a large wooden staircase that led downwards, looking completely out of place amongst the abandoned shelving units that hadn't been used in years. The banister was flaking, the steps themselves looked precarious, and Gene bit his lip slightly as he stood there. He glanced left and right, searching for any sign of movement in the darkness, vaguely wondering where Ray had gotten to... There was no mark of any other living thing, and a chill swept down Gene's spine. Hesitant, he glanced around several more times as he tried to think, to collect himself...

The instincts blazing in his gut told him to walk down the stairs, to see what lay down there and whether there was anything amiss; another part of him said that to go down the stairs was to go in on the back foot and put himself and others in danger... But then the sound of a child's muffled sneeze reached his ears, and he made up his mind.

A few moments later, he made his way down the stairs.

---

He assumed that the bottom floor had once been used for the packing of boxes, just as the rest of the warehouse, but now it was empty, bearing signs of flood damage and leaky pipes, the scent of damp heavier here than at any other place in the building. He carefully rounded the banister, ducking behind a pile of damp, mouldy boxes as unfamiliar voices drifted up towards him through the thick, dank, humid air, sounding eerie and out of place, but strangely clear at such a distance through the compressing silence of the warehouse.

"-'cause if you've brought coppers, Tibbett, you're gunna see this little girls brains splattered across the wall – and be sure that I'll turn the lights on for that." The voice was cold, ruthless, calculating, and Gene shivered, the London accent harsh and grating on his ears. A muffled shriek of fear and panic drifted towards him, and Gene felt himself cringe, his whole body tensing up, muscles rigid with disgust.

"I swear!"

Gene could only assume that the panicked, high-pitched voice that sounded out was that of the girl's father... He couldn't see, but if he could, Gene would bet that he would see sweat beading on the man's forehead, see his hands shake and his jaw quiver... He grimaced, listening as the man continued to babble on. "I swear, please, there's nobody else here, nobody but me! Just give me my daughter back!" The man was bordering on hysterical, his voice quivering, rising even further in pitch, and Gene could only imagine the desperate gestures the other man was making, the over-eager wringing of his hands, the grappling for his daughters touch in utterly incomprehensible need...

"Please!" He went on. "You've got the money! You've got what you wanted – please give her back!" The hysterical begging continued, and Gene closed his eyes against the inevitable cold laughter of the kidnapper.

"I'll give you your daughter back, Mr Tibbett, when I'm back in my car, with the money in the back seat, and no sign of the Police- then, and only then, you can have your daughter back!"

"Please! Please! She's terrified! Please! There's nobody here, nobody at all, just me, just-"

A distant crackle echoed through the empty space of the room, and the muffled shouts, the hysterical begging and the amused, cold laughter halted, the whole of the abandoned warehouse falling into silence as the crackle continued. Gene panicked; he'd turned his own radio off, made sure nobody could contact him... But had he remembered to tell Ray and the others? Shit. Where the bloody hell was Ray?

"Alone, you say?" The cold voice was angered, bitter, resentful, and instantly Gene's heart began to pound in his chest, his tongue going paper dry as he swallowed hard against the horrible lump that formed in his gullet.

"Nobody else, you say?" The kidnapper hissed. "Just you?"

"Yes..." the fathers' voice was small, terrified, and defeatist. "I swear, I didn't know there was anyone but-"

"Then you won't mind checking that staircase then, will you?" The tone was unmistakeable; demanding, overpowering, full of command, and reeking of rage and frustration. "Because, Mister Tibbett, if there is someone over there, then I can assure you that it will take a great deal more than twenty grand to stop me shooting your daughter through her pretty little skull!"

The muffled shrieks grew louder, and a moment later there was a loud crack of skin-on-skin, a menacing growl of anger and the thud of a small body hitting the floor. A loud cry of horror and rage followed it all as the girl's father watched on in horror, his gasps and sobs echoing around the room. Gene heard a loud rustle of movement, just before Ray's familiar, gruff voice ripped through the darkness, strong and clear.

"Put the gun down!"

Gene was moving in seconds, crouching down and descending the stairs with gentle, yet still quick steps, keeping his eyes peeled for the scene that he had been forced to listen to for the last few minutes, the scene he had been helpless to interfere with as the exchange was carried out... As he moved swiftly downwards, he kept his ears carefully peeled, hearing a long, loud snarl as it tore itself from the kidnappers throat.

"I think it's you, Officer, who should put the gun down..." There was a sudden flurry of movement, the stifled sounds of gasps, shrieks, and then Ray's loud emission of 'bollucks', before the kidnappers laughter broke through it all, the sobs of the girl going unheeded as he went on. "Because, Officer, if you don't, I'm afraid this little girl will lose her life," there was a sympathetic tutting noise, the pursing of lips and the exaggerated sound of a sloppy kiss, before the laughter died down to a soft chuckle. "So, so, unfair, isn't it, Alice?" He crooned. "Your Daddy is a very rich man, and rather than settle this himself, he saw fit to involve the police," he chuckled, and as the scene came into view, Gene felt his stomach turn, his body wracked with nausea.

The man had one arm around the girls waist, crushing her against his chest, his lips inches from her ear, nose practically buried in the soft blonde locks of her hair. The gun he had earlier pushed into her back was now pressed hard against her head, and the gagged girl was sobbing, shaking and quivering in her kidnapper's arms. Her father was kneeling on the floor barely a metre from her, his arms outstretched, tears streaking down his face, his whole body wracked with anger, grief, pain and worry. A few metres away stood Ray, positioned at the foot of a block of stairs similar to those that Gene himself had so recently descended. In the Sergeant's hand was a gun, held with uncertainty and worry as his lip quivered with indecision. Gene tried to catch his eye, to tell him to drop the weapon, but it was to no avail.

"Put the gun down, Officer, and perhaps we'll be able to come to a reasonable agreement about this little girl's fate..." The ultimatum hung in the air, sinister and evil, and Gene could almost hear Ray's brain working in his head, could practically see the cogs turning as the younger man attempted to calculate angles, to work out the probability and likelihood of being able to shoot the kidnapper down without risking the girls life... He watched as Ray's jaw gritted slightly in his mouth, and he knew in that moment that they'd both come to the same conclusion; Ray wouldn't be able to shoot without harming Alice.

Both Ray and Gene realized in that moment that the kidnapper was no fool when it came to weaponry and defence; he had brought the girls head directly in front of his heart, her bound hands covering the rest of his chest, whilst her reasonably chubby form blocked out his own torso; the only open area was the head, and even that was uncertain, since he had pressed himself so close against the young girl that there was no way to distinguish where his head ended and hers began, especially in the dim light of the warehouse.

Gene could practically see the flash of anger in Ray's eyes, see the finger tighten and tense briefly on the trigger in agitation and anger, before Ray nodded, slowly lowering the gun to the ground in defeat as he kept his eyes locked on the scene before him. His gun clattered against the floor, and Gene watched as the DS lifted his arms in surrender. "How 'bout you let 'er go now, 'ey?" Ray asked. "Give us the girl, an' take the money..." Ray's voice quavered ever so slightly as he was rendered defenceless, but he made no other movement. Gene gulped hard as he walked slightly closer, quiet and undetected as he manoeuvred his way between boxes and shelves, trying to get a clear shot; he was too far away.

"I'm afraid it's not quite that easy, Officer," the kidnapper murmured. "You see, myself and Mister Tibbett had an arrangement; an agreement – almost a contract, if you will. And in that contract, I made it explicitly clear that no police officers were to be alerted to this little exchange..." He pressed his gun harder against the girl's head, his voice full of fake smiles, dripping with sardonic amusement and false sweetness. "So tell me, Mister Tibbett..." He said, turning back to the girl's father. "How much is your little girl's life worth?"

"Anything!" Tibbett sobbed helplessly, reaching out a quivering hand. "I'll give you anything, please, please give her back, I just- please! Please, give her back now! She's terrified! I'll do anything, I-"

"Don't exaggerate," the man snapped with distaste, tugging the girl closer still, his hand moving to her small neck as he turned the gun on her father with the other. "You will not give me anything, nor are you capable of it," he was sneering in amusement, cocking the gun as his long fingers trailed over Alice's face and neck. "So tell me," He went on. "And tell me reasonably- what's she _really_ worth to you?"

At that moment, Gene rounded the shelves, finding himself in clear view of the scene, the kidnappers unprotected back the perfect, unsuspecting target. He took a deep breath, levelled his gun, steadying his trembling hand with a deep breath before lining himself up for the shot.

Pictures of Alex, comatose, bleeding and gasping for breath all flashed before his eyes; he forced them away, steadying his hand once more and breathing deeply, the air heavy and thick in his lungs... For a moment, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of nothing but this room and the people in it- when he opened them again, his finger tightened on the trigger, the weapon jerking slightly in his hand with the force of the shot; as he watched, the barrel opened and the bullet flew.

**----**

**Yeah, yeah, I'm evil, I know, I know :p There'll be more soon, with any luck :-)**

**Let me know what you thought!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	7. Dusty Shelves And Dirty Fingers

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Sorry about the delay on the update – shouldn't be as long next time, since it's pretty much ready to go (I say that, I'll probably scrap it!) **

**Anyway, hope you'll enjoy the chapter!**

**----**

Gene didn't know what he had been expecting to happen, really – for the bullet to fly in slow motion, perhaps? To see the victim fall slowly to his knees and see every frame of his facial expression as the metal shred into his skin? But the shocking realization was that, even with Alex's image burning at his irises, nothing was different.

The bullet still sped forwards as fast as it always did, flying true and fast, cracking through the silence of the room like a hurricane, before hitting the kidnapper square in the shoulder, forcing him to emit a loud, choking gasp as his arms loosened on the girl he held, and shock made his body rigid. The girl in his hold stumbled forwards without thought, hurriedly covering the small distance between herself and her father, becoming so wrapped in his arms that, for a brief moment, it was hard to tell who was who.

The kidnapper fell forwards, and, even as Gene's bullet buried itself in his shoulder, the thin, long fingers of his hand closing mechanically on the trigger of his gun, the jolt as the bullet left the barrel jerking his arm and sending it spiralling as another loud, resounding crack followed the noise from Gene's own weapon almost immediately...

It took Gene less than two seconds to realize that he'd fucked up, yet again.

The girl and her father, still clinging to one another helplessly, had both screamed with identical pain and anguish almost instantaneously after the bullet had left the kidnappers gun, but it took only one glance at their faces to know who had been hit, even without the large bullet wound that leaked blood over the pale fabric of their clothing, and the white colour of their skin.

The fathers face was white with fear, stricken with grief, anger and hatred, and rocked with an emotional vulnerability so intense that Gene could feel his heart clench in his chest. The other mans helpless gaze locked on the rapidly whitening flesh of his daughters' face, his mouth opening and closing in helplessness, the only noise that left his lips one of grief and anguish. Gene's eyes travelled further down, towards the vile wound that had burrowed into Alice Tibbett's neck, the same wound that was now bleeding so profusely that the flowery white dress the girl was wearing was fast becoming bright scarlet, the oozing liquid trickling grotesquely down her neck, her arms and her chest.

Gene's gun fell from his fingers, and a moment later, ignoring the groans of pain from the kidnapper, he was rushing forward, sparing only the briefest of glances in the wounded mans direction, just time enough to kick the gun from within the reach of long, skeletal fingers, before he was on his knees beside the girl.

The father was sobbing hopelessly, his grip on Alice's small body rapidly slackening as he attempted to contain his grief. Gene vaguely heard Ray begin to radio for an ambulance, but his mind was awash with panic and pain as he stared at the little girl whose skin was fast becoming icy cold and white as a sheet.

Before now, Gene had watched fathers fall to pieces over their daughters deaths; he'd seen them drink themselves into coma's, and dope themselves so high up to the eyeballs that they couldn't see straight ever again. He'd seen them take revenge, and he'd seen them lose their minds, but never, in all of his years, had he witnessed a father waiting for his child to die; at that moment, he realized how lucky he had been to avoid it for so long.

Arthur Tibbett raised a shaking, trembling hand to his daughters cheek, running large, stubby fingers down her face and whispering his apologies a thousand times, telling her to sleep, to dream, to forget the pain and think of flowers and cornfields. Gene's heart cracked in his chest as the father's tears fell onto his daughter's terrified face, rolling down her cheeks along with her own as she whispered, in a choking, panicked and completely pained, gargling voice; "Daddy, I'm scared."

Vomit rose in Gene's throat, and he had to gulp hard to stop himself, watching in horror and shock as Arthur's hands soothingly caressed the locks of his daughters' hair, just as he might if he were putting her to bed.

"Don't be scared," he told her softly, and his voice was as ragged and choked as her own. "It'll be over soon," he promised, his tone full of remorse and grief, but tinted with tenderness, emotion and warmth. "Very soon, my darling girl," he whispered, "I promise..." He pressed a kiss to his daughters head, rocking her in his arms, clutching her against his chest as the blood from her wound soaked through into his own clothing, staining it dark brown. "Think- think of – think happy thoughts..." he sobbed, "it'll all be over soon..." His breaking voice made Gene turn his head away, feeling guilt and pain stabbing at his stomach, disgust and horror making him sick as dust and pain stung at his eyes, burning like acid and needles and fire as he waited, his heart pounding traitorously fast in his chest as Alice Tibbett's slowed down more and more...

Gene knew the moment had come when Arthur let out a loud, piercing wail, one like nothing Gene had ever heard, nor wanted to hear again; as the grieving father roared with rage and grief, so wracked with pain that he could barely hold himself up, it was all he could do to place his daughter down on the floor, his body falling to the side and lying limp and useless as he sobbed and wept, his yells so heart-wrenchingly awful that Gene could practically feel the knife of grief as it stabbed into Arthur's chest and twisted in his heart.

Biting back guilt and hatred, Gene wrapped his arms around Alice's not yet cold body, pulling her to his chest and nodding for Ray to help escort Arthur from the building, watching as the DS hauled him to his feet, struggling to guide him as he stumbled blindly into boxes, walls, shelves; in the end, Ray had to throw an arm around the other mans shoulders, keeping him within his own grasp as the grieving man shrieked on, sobbing and wailing in horror as the DS steered him out.

Gene watched Ray leave, and then looked down at Alice Tibbett's face; her eyes were closed, the set of her mouth gentle, and apart from the bloody wound at her neck, she might well have been sleeping. The blonde hair at her shoulder was matted with blood, and his first move was to push it away, before pulling her tight against his chest, feeling the limp, still body flop in his arms as he stood up, her warm, sticky blood trickling down her neck and onto his clothing. He didn't so much as glance back at the kidnapper, who was clutching his arm desperately and groaning for help; the only thing Gene could bring himself to think was that he'd fucked up yet again, that for the second time in the course of three days, he had an innocent persons blood on his hands...

Ray was still leading Arthur up the stairs, half-carrying the incoherent man, whose head was turned over his shoulder, his eyes locked desperately on the girl in Gene's arms, tears pouring freely down his cheeks as he allowed himself to be led up the stairs, through the dusty darkness and into the street, where the light was blinding, grating against their irises as they stumbled into daylight...

There was noise, and bustling, and murmurs of conversation, but the moment Gene stepped into the light, it all fell hushed as each officer's eyes fell to the girl in his arms.

"Chris," Gene mumbled, hoisting the girl closer to his chest so that the last remnants of her dignity remained, and they wouldn't see the gaping wound that had torn into Alice Tibbett's neck. "There's a bastard down there with a bullet in 'is arm – if you ask me, it wouldn't be such a shame if one ended up through his head..." He ground his teeth briefly, before continuing to murmur softly, "make sure he's cuffed, and taken out the other way; then get 'im down the station."

"Yes Guv," Chris nodded, pushing through the creaking entrance to the warehouse. Gene's ears strained as he listened out for his descent, but a moment later the thud of his footsteps had died away, and he had to lift his eyes to a familiar face. Ray's jaw was tight, the vein jumping against his cheek, and Gene could only gulp, nod his head and briefly allow himself a moment of comradeship before speaking.

"I fucked up, Ray," he muttered, glancing across at Arthur Tibbett, who was sobbing helplessly for his little girl, wailing and weeping with his back against the wall, his limbs akimbo, as though he cared not for anything but the grief threatening to rip him in two. "Should've let yer shoot the bastard before."

"Ain't your fault, Guv," Ray murmured, but his eyes were averted, and Gene couldn't help but feel that Ray, too, would blame him for this later. His self-disgust roiled in his stomach, and he could only grind his teeth, glaring at the floor, the body in his arms cradled protectively against his chest.

"Yeah, Ray, it is. I should've-"

He was interrupted when a piercing shriek split the air, tearing through the skies and raking across his eardrums like metal claws scraped across his skin; it was a cry similar to that which he had heard down in the basement of the warehouse, but somehow it was worse – it was louder, more shrill, etched with rage and hatred and despair so prominent it was practically unbearable to listen. The sound of the mothers' grief wrapped around Gene, in a cocoon so impenetrable that he could hear nothing but the horrible shrieking, the wailing, the incessant grip of despair so pungent he could barely breathe without the acrid taste of bitter defeat and self-loathing staining his throat and tongue...

He wanted to run away, to escape the sounds of such unbearable loss and upheaval, but his arms were still wrapped around the young girl's lifeless body, still holding in those last reserves of body heat, as though in doing so he might prolong the inevitable, might somehow prevent her death, despite the fact he knew that all life had slipped through her fingers and into the unknown many minutes past. He watched as the stumbling, still shrieking mother came towards him, her arms outstretched, her long-fingered hand stroking down her daughters face with such gentleness that Gene could practically feel it himself. Her eyes shone bright with moisture, her cheeks were stained with running makeup and tear tracks that ended at her chin, dripping onto her clothes and discolouring the pale yellow of her blouse with smudged mascara.

Her face was wrought with crippling pain, her whole body slumped and useless as she fell forwards into Gene, her knees weak and her wails so loud they made him flinch slightly. He stood firm, stopping himself from stumbling as she gently smoothed away the hair from her daughters face, as she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and whispered something that Gene was certain he had no right to hear, but that would ring in his head for hours to come.

"Sleep now, my beautiful darling," she whispered through her anguish, grasping at her daughters hand with desperation and pressing a hard kiss to her palm, "the angel's will be with you soon..." She stared at her daughters face for several minutes until, finally, and yet all too suddenly, she glanced at Gene, her piercing green eyes boring into his with need and desperation etched into every fleck of colour that resided in their depths; "Can I hold her?" she asked.

Gene blinked, glancing at the girl in his arms, whose wound her mother had yet to see, wondering why on earth she was asking his permission, when it was her little girl that he held, her own flesh and blood that resided in the cradle of his arms... He met her gaze, seeing the need in her eyes and gulping as he nodded towards a nearby stack of boxes. "You better sit down, love," he murmured, holding the girl closer to his chest as her mother walked slowly and hesitantly towards the makeshift seat Gene had indicated for her to sit on.

"Is it-? How bad-? Is it worse than it looks?" Her voice faltered, her outstretched hands suddenly withdrawn as she glanced into Gene's clouded blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, love," he murmured, holding Alice nervously in his arms. "It's pretty bad..." Her mother nodded, nervously reaching her hands forward and lightly tugging, a silent sign that she was ready, that this was just something that she needed to do... A few moments passed, before Gene gently placed the young girl back in her mother's arms, watching with silent amazement as she pulled the child against her, tucking her into her hold as though they were made to fit together.

The girls head rested against her mother's chest, and Gene could only stare as she rocked back and forth, as though singing a lullaby, even though the child in her arms had been forever silenced by the single shard of metal that had burrowed so callously into her neck.

The mother was sobbing, her tears splashing into the dust-covered blonde of her daughters' hair, silent, and somehow all the more pungent for being so. It was only when he felt the hand on his arm that he looked around, seeing Shaz's concerned face as she glanced at the grieving mother.

"Guv, the ambulance is here," she murmured softly, turning her face away so that she wouldn't have to look at the heart-wrenching scene before them. "They want the parents checked for shock... Maybe you should get-"

"I'm fine," he muttered, reaching for the hip flask in his breast pocket, drinking deeply before turning away, and reaching into his pockets for the cold metal keys of the Quattro. He saw Shaz nod her understanding, but a few moments later he'd driven away, ignoring the looks from his fellow officers, and the blood on his shirt that felt scalding hot against his skin as he sped across town.

He didn't even think about where he was going; fifteen minutes later, he was through the hospital doors.

---

The nurse looked at him with horror, instantly rushing forward when she saw the blood on his shirt and arms, hurriedly calling for various bandages and cleaning salves before Gene shook his head, pushing her aside gently, following it up with a brief flash of his badge, before easing into Alex's room without a backward glance. He ignored the cries of protest and worry from the nurse, stepping inside and dropping his overcoat on the chair, before settling onto the mattress and reaching without hesitation for her hand.

"Wake up, Bolly," he said softly, squeezing at her hand lightly, thumb caressing the soft skin on the back of her hand. He only noticed then that he was coated in grime, dust and mud, as well as the copious scarlet stains that had leaked onto his clothing and skin. He felt awful, unclean and useless, but despite it all he couldn't bring himself to leave, not without seeing her, feeling her reassuring presence. "Bloody hell, Bols, wake up," he pleaded, compressing her hand between both of his, brushing his lips against the fingertips in a tender gesture he would never have believed himself capable of until that moment...

Alex remained still and silent, and Gene felt his resolve crack, felt his determination falter, his throat splintering with pain as he ground his teeth in his skull, feeling the bones grate and the blood pound in his ears. "Bolly," he said again, gulping slightly before squeezing once again at her hand. "Need yer to wake up, Bols... Need yer to tell me it wasn't my fault..." He glanced at the closed door, and at the nurses who were eyeing him through the glass panel with nervous eyes, before he sighed, looking down at his hand wrapped in hers, feeling a renewed lump form in his gullet as he fought for words.

"She shouldn't be dead, Alex..." he said, his voice cracked. "I got it bloody wrong, again..." He rubbed at his eyes, feeling tiredness and exhaustion wrap itself around him like a blanket, lulling him closer to sleep and unconsciousness... He snapped his head up when the door opened, and watched as a small, yet stout lady, with silvery grey hair that hung to her shoulders, waddled in, carrying a bowl of water and a large wad of bandages, which she set firmly on the bedside table, before turning to Gene with a scowl.

"Now, young man," she said sternly, "there'll be none of this- I've nothing against you coming to see the poor love, but this is the second time in two days you've wandered in covered in blood!"

"I'm a-" Gene's retort was swallowed as she interrupted, lifting a long, surprisingly slender finger and pointing at him in a manner that was almost accusatory.

"I know you're a police officer, young man, but that doesn't give you special rights!" Gene bit back the cocky retort that threatened to spill from his tongue, instead opting to listen as the nurse gently pulled his hands away from Alex's and proceeded to scrub them with the rough bandage she had soaked in the bowl of water. "You want to come in here and visit your lady-friend, you'll have to scrub up and-"

"She ain't my lady-friend," Gene glowered, pulling his hands back and moving to shove them into his pockets. He was stopped when she reached out with alarming speed, jerking his hand back towards her and continuing to scrub without pause.

"Well, whatever, or whoever she is to you," she went on, although Gene could have sworn her voice softened slightly, almost sympathetically, it would seem, "you are not to storm in here with blood all over your hands and clothes, and expect to get in here un-checked. Understood?"

Gene blinked, his eyebrows practically in his hair as she continued to scrub at his filthy hands. After a moment's pause, he nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," he murmured, feeling every bit the young man she labelled him as she looked him in the eye, pushing the cloth into his hand and motioning for him to continue cleaning, before she placed her hands on her hips and looked knowingly between himself and Alex. Gene sighed, rubbing the fabric half-heartedly between his fingers as she stood there.

"Now," she said matter-of-factly, "if she's not your lady-friend, what are you doing here for the second time today?"

Bewildered, Gene stopped in his cleaning, meeting her eyes with confusion. "How did you-?"

"I may be old, young man, but I'm not blind! I saw you this morning, and yesterday, and the day before; I don't forget a face! Now, come on, and tell me why on earth you're here? Most folks run a mile when someone ends up in a coma – even the spouses." She raised an eyebrow daringly, and Gene sighed, handing the dirtied cloth back to her and waiting for his hands to dry naturally as he answered, his voice low, accompanied by a soft shrug.

"I 'ave to be," he said, glancing at Alex's face and sighing to himself. "I put 'er 'ere... Ain't bloody leavin' her on 'er own after that." He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out his hip-flask and taking another large swig of whiskey, ignoring the look of disapproval on the nurse's face.

"There'll be none of that in here, either!" She scalded, glaring at him, and then in turn at his flask, just as she began fussing with Alex's blanket. "But from what I hear, it wasn't your fault, and you should be at work." She glanced at the blood on his chest with a raised eyebrow, and Gene sighed in defeat, averting his eyes and looking instead at Alex's perfectly familiar face. How much could he say? He wasn't completely sure himself why he needed to see her as badly as he did, and definitely not as often... it just seemed to be something innate; he was pulled towards her, even when he should be elsewhere, he wasn't complete unless he was here, with Alex... or anywhere, with Alex, he realized. He hadn't felt complete at all until she'd waltzed into his life in a hooker dress and given him an eyeful... Nothing felt right when she wasn't with him anymore, and now she was here, in hospital and completely unresponsive, he shouldn't feel the same – he should be able to draw back... but he couldn't. And there was no explanation that made it clear to him, let alone one that could explain the intricately complex relationship they'd unearthed to a complete stranger...

"She's me DI," he said finally, glancing at the nurse and seeing her smirk of amused derision.

"That much I could've figured from your badges, DCI Hunt," she said calmly, folding the cloth up neatly and attempting, to no avail, to rekindle eye contact. "But your young DS and DC haven't been in more'n the once..."

"Yeah, well they didn't bloody shoot 'er, did they?" He reached again for Alex's hand, subconsciously seeking the reassurance of her familiar touch, closing his long, warm fingers around her cooler ones, and watching as the nurse fussed with the arrangement of the roses at her bedside. She turned back to him and placed a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, in a way so matronly and maternal that he did, for a brief moment, recall the similar way in which his mother had often patted his shoulders whilst consolidating the loss of a football match.

"I've seen men like you waltz in here with their hearts on their sleeves, son," she whispered, "and believe me this; sometimes, it won't do any more good you being here, than it would have done to leave her well enough alone."

At once, Gene's neck snapped around to look at her, anger blazing in his stomach, but a moment later he stopped, faltering when he saw the understanding sympathy burning in the depths of the nurse's eyes. He turned away, eyes on Alex's sleeping face as he spoke again. "She needs me," he murmured, squeezing her hand. "An' this time, I ain't gunna piss it up... I've done that too many bloody times already."

The nurse smiled, patting his shoulder and looking down at Alex's face as she spoke. "I had a husband once, you know?" she started, voice soft and reminiscent. Gene looked up at her carefully, seeing the creases of her face thin out slightly as she smiled in remembrance. "He was lovely," she said, tears glistening on the surface of her eye. "And then, one day, out of the blue, he just collapsed; he was only forty. Cancer, they said. In the brain..." she wiped at her eye, briefly covering Gene's hand with her own. "I saw him every day, for four years; I always thought he'd wake up. Only, he never did. One day, I got here, and he flat-lined, right there in front of me..." Shaking her head sadly, she turned to meet his eyes, recalling her face to a mask of seriousness and sincere sympathy. "Now, I'm not saying give up on her; but don't go putting all your eggs in one basket, you understand?"

Self-consciously, Gene scratched at his scalp, averting his eyes as he answered her quietly; "she's the only basket I've got, love."

The nurse smiled sadly, squeezing at his arm in a reassuring, if slightly unerring gesture, that made him feel oddly comforted. "Well, then," she murmured, "if you need to talk, ask at the office for Marion; you look like you could use a friendly face." She gave him a knowing look, and then patted his shoulder lightly, leaving the room with a warm, if sad, parting smile. Gene remained where he was, briefly watching her retreating back, before turning back to Alex.

"Come on, Bols," he murmured, moving his chair closer to her bed and pulling her hand against his chest. "You best not be plannin' on dozin' about fer that long; need a good look at your arse in the morning ter get the old engine purring..." He bit his lip, and then muttered, quietly, "could've done with it today, an' all... not just yer arse, I mean, just..." he gulped, locking his gaze on her face and sighing at the now familiarly unaltered features.

"She shouldn't 'ave died, Bols. I messed up again; Ray could've taken 'im out before we even went into that pissing place, an' I told him not to..." He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle beat of the heart monitor and the sound of Alex's breathing, tuning himself into them as he went on, his eyes still shut tight against everything else. "I can't think straight, Bolly..." he murmured. "Didn't want any more blood on me hands, and now I've gotta explain to the Super why we didn't just apprehend the bastard when we had the chance, an' how the girls Dad's gunna have to live with the fact he called us in..." He trailed off briefly, losing his voice for several moments. When he recovered, it was breathy and pained. "'e trusted us, Alex," he whispered, gulping hard, opening his eyelids and reaching out to stroke her cheek with one hand. "All the bastards we 'elp who wind up hatin' us, an' the one family who bloody trusts us ends up with a dead kiddie..."

She stayed still, not responding, and he felt pain grip at his stomach as he went on, his voice soft. "Need yer to wake up now, Alex. I know yer wanna punch me to kingdom come, an' that's fine... just tell me I ain't a complete knob'ead before I cop it, 'ey?" He waited, pausing, looking at her expectantly before sighing. "I'll come by tomorrow, Bols; wake up, 'ey?" He leant forwards, brushing her forehead with his lips once again, before turning away and leaving the room. He ignored the sad smile Marion sent his way as he moved away down the corridor, gulping down the last remnants of whiskey in his hip-flask as he went.

---

He knew it was the last place he should go; every time he was here, he was reminded with a kick to the gut that she couldn't be here anymore because of his own foolish mistake, but somehow it didn't matter; he found himself there yet again, half-cut and practically oozing alcohol from the pores of his skin.

He smelt like a brewery, as though he had bathed in whiskey and beer, and he was still covered with blood and muck. He'd spent the evening in Luigi's, drowning his sorrows at a distance from the rest of the team, ignoring Shaz's attempts to consolidate him, and shoving off Ray and Chris' offers to buy him a drink. He felt wracked with hopelessness; he hadn't even bothered to go back to work, and the Super would probably be after his head tomorrow – not that it mattered. He felt less than three inches tall, and the moment he had seen Ray and Chris's faces, he'd known that, whatever loyalties they had to him, whilst still remaining, it wouldn't stop them realizing that this was still his fault, that little Alice Tibbett would not have died had his judgement been better... He felt cold and useless, and the copious amounts of whiskey that he poured down his throat in an attempt to liberate himself did nothing but lower him further into his stupor of self hatred and bitterness.

More than anything, he wanted Luigi to report him for breaking and entering, to tell him to leave Signorina Drake's flat alone and go back to his own home; but he knew only too well that the stout little Italian had a heart of gold. Initially, Gene had wondered if Luigi even realized the circumstances surrounding Alex's hospitalisation, wondering if he had heard that it had been Gene who pulled the trigger, not the gang of bent coppers and burglars that they'd been trying to stop... He'd found out that afternoon, as he ordered his third whiskey, that Luigi did know, and that he didn't believe that Gene's part had been at all intentional. His gratitude for the older man had swelled in his chest, and he'd had to stop himself grabbing the other man around the shoulders and hugging him. It had taken several moments of reserved gulping and nodding before Gene had even been able to voice his thanks, and by the time he managed it, the older man was already back behind the bar, smiling sadly at him.

Now, Gene stumbled through the doorway to Alex's flat, slumping on her sofa for the third night in a row, stomach down as he grunted something incoherent beneath his breath. Something dug into his chest, something hard and uncomfortable, and he had to push himself back into a sitting position with extreme difficulty to look for it.

There was nothing on the sofa that would cause him any pain; the cushion, the sofa itself, the blanket Alex always left there for him whenever he was too pissed to drive himself home... In reminiscence, he realised that there was a time when he could never have been convinced of his drunkenness- Sam had very rarely been able to coerce Gene into giving over the keys, but Alex? Alex had him on her sofa almost every night for the last few months... Laying there hammered, just for the sake of being close to her, of knowing she was sound asleep in the neighbouring room... He blinked, pushing a hand into his breast pocket and fishing around for its contents, which he tossed onto the cushion before him with drunken flourish, mumbling each items name under his breath.

"Fags," he slurred, tossing the packet of Marlboro in front of him. "Lighter... warrant card... money... warra-"

He stopped, glancing in confusion from his pocket to the warrant card before him. That wasn't his. In his drunken state, he couldn't really recall whose it was; he reached for it, closing a clumsy hand around the leather before flipping it open.

Gene froze.

For a few moments, the fact he'd forgotten whose warrant card he held seemed even more of a betrayal than shooting her in the gut; he shouldn't forget- even before he'd shot her, it had been him forcing the wedge apart, taking her card, suspending her without reason... Even when he was pissed enough to forget his own name, nothing should overwrite the importance of the cards presence in his pocket, above the pounding of his heart, resting as close as possible because there was nothing else to hold in its stead...

His eyes traced almost greedily over the familiar lines of Alex's face; the bouncy curls, the line of her lips, the shape of her nose, the curve of her eyebrows... He trailed one single fingertip down the cheek, eyeing it with a painful feeling of loss in his gut, before suddenly snapping it closed, pushing it firmly back into his pocket and pushing the palms of his hands against his eyes, attempting to erase the past three days from his mind as everything flooded back to him, and his head began to ache.

----

_Alice watched him from the dusty shelf of the warehouse, swinging her legs as though she were attempting to go higher on the swings in the playground, apparently unaffected by the dark, dampness of the room, or the chill that hung about like a bad smell. Her florally decorated dress seemed to blow slightly in the non-existent breeze, and though there was no light in the room, she seemed to glow with an ethereal shimmer that sent shivers down Gene's spine. She was oddly clean, her skin sparkling with cleanliness and contradicting the thick fog of dust and grime that hung around her in the air and on the metal shelf itself. She was smiling, though the smile was no warmer than the cold stab of ice that shot through his stomach at the sight of her... He turned away, guilt roiling in his stomach as her voice sounded; it was high, eerie, and terrifyingly unreal, but he turned back to her, compelled by some abstract, foreign force he didn't wish to adhere to, but that he had no control over. _

"_You're not a very good policeman, are you, Gene?" Her voice was mocking, full of laughter and teasing that was bitterly insensitive, and for a moment he felt like a youngster in a playground, surrounded by bullies, having jibes and digs thrown at him over and over... He'd never been in this position, never felt tears prick at his eyes and wanted to scream his surrender, but suddenly he was five years old, backed into a corner, and all he wanted was an escape... But still she went on, her voice piercing through his mind despite his best attempts to block them out. "A good policeman would have saved me, wouldn't they? Like Ray wanted to. Nobody would have been hurt except the nasty man... Why did you let me die, Gene? I didn't want to die..."_

_Gene couldn't help it; he looked up into her eyes, saw the green irises that must have been her mother's shimmering with darkness and blame, and his knees trembled. Her face was transformed from the innocence of childhood to the face of an old lady who had seen more horrors in her lifetime than was fair to anyone. Where she should have appeared sweet, childlike, enviably free of responsibility and fears, she now became darker, her eyes filled with ghosts that contradicted the innocent smile and the soft floral decor of her dress. "I didn't kill you..." he whispered desperately._

"_Yes you did." She replied, swinging each leg alternately now, smiling coldly. "You shot the bad man, and the bad man shot me... He was going to shoot my Daddy, but he shot me instead. So why didn't you kill the bad man, Gene? He's just nasty, and mean, and not nice... Why didn't you kill the bad man?"_

"_I didn't wanna kill anyone," Gene whispered, voice cracking as he fell to his knees, staring up at the girl with pleading eyes. "I didn't want to-"_

"_BANG!" The girl said, cackling wickedly as the noise echoed in Gene's ears, ricocheting through his head as the bullet sounded all over again, leaving the gun with a large crack that shook through the room and resounded in his ears. As he watched, blood began to seep from the young girls' neck, staining her clothes and running over her bare skin; but even as she bled profusely, still she kept laughing. _

_She showed no pain, no fear, no worry, and the horrified, terrified, petrified sobbing that had left her mouth that afternoon was gone- no tears slid from her cheeks, and nor did she give any other outward sign that she was fatally injured; it was as though someone had told her a joke, one that she found irrationally funny, despite the knowledge that her fellows had stopped laughing, that it was just her shrieking her amusement in the centre of the room..._

_Gene's whole body shook with anger, his hands trembling as her laughing face whitened drastically, before suddenly, with a final, crashing crescendo of laughter, she disappeared with a loud snap, a sudden whip of air; a moment later, the space on the shelf was filled, and Gene fell backwards onto the palms of his hands in shock._

_She was smiling, her teeth white, her hazel eyes glinting, her hair falling softly around her gentle face. She was as beautiful as ever, still dressed in her jeans, blouse and white leather jacket, her makeup fresh on her face, her side unblemished by blood and injury... She was swinging her legs, like the child who had so recently vacated her space, her hands loosely gripping the shelving unit as she spoke, in a voice more terrifying and yet more beautiful than the Alex he knew, her tone uncharacteristic and callous, yet still perfect and alluring as she continued to smile sardonically at him. _

"_Bang..." she whispered, her voice softer than Alice's had been, but somehow more haunting than the little girl could ever have managed. "Am I dead yet, Gene?"_

_There was the sound of rapid beating, a flat-line flashing before his eyes, and with another crack of the bullet, the room was gone._

**----**

**Let me know what you thought!**

**Big thanks to Feline for the beta-ing job :-)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	8. Number Not Recognised

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**This one's un-betaed for now, so all mistakes are my own! **

**Hope it's alright! **

**---**

Alex sat in her bed, staring at the closed window and feeling her heart hammer away in her chest, her breathing heavy and irregular as she did so. She glanced alternately from the door to the window, feeling her body clam with fear and anticipation at the realisation that there was no draught seeping in... At first, she told herself she was dreaming, that she'd become so used to Gene's voice and character that she could close her eyes and fool herself into believing he was talking to her... But that didn't explain the breeze, or the taste of his drink, or the minty-fresh scent of his toothpaste that, briefly, she had thought to be in her imagination. Her skin tingled from the warmth of the breeze, and she touched her cheek with a fearful reverence as the reality of it sunk in.

It felt just as it had back then, back in eighty-two, where she had convinced herself Molly was with her, occasionally seeing her, holding her... But this was meant to be reality; this was meant to be truth, and yet, somehow, Gene could still reach her, she could still feel him, smell him, taste him...

She was out of the bed a second later, throwing on a loose pair of trousers and a grey sweatshirt, before walking as quickly as was humanly possible down the stairs, ignoring the soft lull of music that drifted from Molly's room, waving off Evan's look of concern as he poked his head around the living room door, and snatching the telephone from its cradle.

For a moment, she blinked, staring at the contraption as though it were some sort of foreign instrument; her eyes fell instantly to the base of the telephone, expecting to catch sight of a wire cord linking the receiver and the cradle together, but there was nothing. She stared, completely bemused, before shaking her head and punching in the familiar number, holding the phone up to her ear as she waited impatiently.

A few seconds later, there was a loud, piercing beep in her ear, followed by the operators shrill, automated voice; "The number you have dialled has not been recognised."

Alex froze, her heart hammering, then pressed the red button, hung up and tried again.

"The number you have dialled has not been recognised." There was a slight pause, a second of silence, and then it repeated, identical to before; "The number you have dialled has not been recognized."

With a gulp, Alex hung up, dropping the phone on the table and covering her mouth to stop the loud, violent, wracking sob that threatened to rip forth from her chest. For a moment, she simply stared at the receiver, her mind ticking repeatedly as she tried to understand her mistake, to come to terms with why she couldn't remember the correct number, why she-

She froze, her mouth and tongue drying up as she reached a trembling hand towards the black book of telephone numbers that always lay on the table beside the phone itself. Without hesitation, she flicked to the 'W's, her heart pounding and stomach churning as she swiftly scanned down the page.

"Who are you ringing?" Evan asked from the entrance to the living room, frowning concernedly at her as she bit back repeated sobs, her hand still over her mouth as she stared at the page before her, chest and back heaving as her gasps became more strangled, more painful.

A moment later he was beside her, one protective arm slung around her shoulder as he hushed her softly. As he stood there, his eyes fell to her finger, which was pointing to the fifth number on the list, and was labelled with the simple title of 'Work.' He glanced at her, frowning, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. Instead she simply stared as her mistake dawned on her all of a sudden.

"Work," she whispered eventually, her voice cracking and painfully strained. "Twenty six years ago."

---

Evan took her back to bed, bringing her a steaming cup of tea and watching her carefully as she brought her knees up to her chest, rocking childishly back and forward as she attempted to calm herself.

"Come on, Titch," he murmured, setting the cup on her bedside table and forcing a smile. "Get to sleep... You won't do yourself any good running about the house."

"You don't understand," Alex whispered, shaking her head as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "I need to call work, I need to know if-!"

"Alex, they've managed for over a month without you; I'm sure whatever it is that you think is urgent can wait – just get some sleep." He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning from the room.

Alex didn't protest, simply waiting until his footsteps could be heard on the wooden panelled floor of the hallway, before reaching for the phone and book that she had slipped up her sleeves and snuck upstairs unnoticed, flicking once again to 'W'. After a few seconds of staring, she punched in the six digits, and listened as the familiar dialling tone started up.

A few moments later, someone picked up, and her stomach twisted, not giving the person on the other end time to speak before she cut across.

"Hello, this is DI Alex Drake; could you put me through to Superintendent Malcowitz? Thank you."

There was a hurried confirmation, then another dialling tone, before the phone was snatched up and her former DCI spoke, sounding utterly bemused and bewildered. "Alex? You're meant to be off sick!" There was a slight hint of irritation in his voice, and Alex smiled.

"I am, Ant; I'm still in bed, I just need you to do something for me... Call it personal interest, I just-"

"Alex," Malcowitz replied sternly. "Don't you think you should be resting?"

"This will help me rest Ant, I just need to know something about a former police officer, that's all..." She hesitated then added, "Please?"

She heard him gulp, practically felt his indecision reaching down the phone line, before he sighed and murmured his assent. "Alright," he conceded, "who is it?"

"DCI Gene Hunt, formerly of GMP, transferred down to Fenchurch East in 1980 with DS Ray Carling, and DC Chris Skelton," she reeled it off quickly and easily, and she could hear his chuckle of amusement.

"Should've known you'd have his back story... what d'you want to know about him?"

"Everything," Alex said instantly. "Anything you can get your hands on."

Malcowitz sighed, and she could imagine him rolling his eyes and pushing his black hair out of his eyes. "Alright... I'll email it over this afternoon, and-"

"Would you mind sending it over with one of the others?" Alex asked swiftly, biting her lip nervously. "Only, I can't use a computer for prolonged periods because of my-"

"Because of your head, right," Malcowitz agreed, sighing. "Sorry, I forgot; I'll get Troit to run 'em over after lunch. Now get to sleep!"

----

"Here you are, Ma'am," the young DC, tall, brown haired and muscular, held out a large, thick brown envelope which bulged noticeably. "Everything we've got." Alex reached out with a nervous hand, though her smile was bright and split her face in two.

"Thank you, Liam," she breathed, eagerly ripping open the envelope and drawing out several brown manila files. She flicked briefly through, glancing at the label on each, surprised to find that Ant had provided her with the files of Ray and Chris as well. Heart hammering, she beamed at him, unable to stop herself as her face seemed to contort with uninhibited joy. "You have no idea what this means to me!"

Liam Troit just grinned, shrugging his broad shoulders as he answered her, "by your face Ma'am, I'd say I can take a good guess." He glanced at his watch, and then sighed. "I have to go; Guv wants me taking statements down the bank as soon as I'm done here, and you know what he's like when he gets a bee in his bonnet about something!" Alex laughed, nodding as she walked him to the door.

"That I do," she conceded, grinning. "Take care – and make sure he doesn't overwork you!"

Chuckling, Troit opened the door, leaning forwards to catch Alex in a gentle, friendly hug that both surprised and pleased her. "He couldn't if he tried," Liam laughed. "I'm worse than he is!" With a small smile, he added, "don't spend all day reading that, Ma'am- ain't good for your head, and Mr White'll have my guts if he thinks I gave it to you!"

She grinned, shaking her head at his reference to Evan as she answered him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I won't... thank you!"

Liam nodded, stepping onto the steps and turning slowly back to her. "And, Ma'am... when you do read it, make sure you're sitting down, please? It ain't exactly roses in the park." He was down the steps before Alex could say anything else in response, and she simply watched him leave, her stomach clenching as she glanced down at the top file. As soon as Liam had clambered back into his Renault, she turned away.

Closing the door, she hurried back to her room, placing the files of Ray and Chris on the bedside table, before sliding under the blanket and flipping Gene's file open.

---

It was everything she'd learnt about him, plus twenty years before and twenty years ahead, and Alex's heart constricted with every word that graced the pages before her. The documents inside ranged from hand-scrawled character reports from former senior officers - including, both to her dismay and yet simultaneous relief, that of SuperMac – to details of promotions, pay, significant events, and medical records. It was far more cohesive than the Gene she knew would ever have bothered to make it, dating right back from his enrolment and following it through right up to his retirement, with cross-references and an index page.

As she read, her heart hammered like a drum inside the confines of her ribcage, her breath short and rasping as the true weight of the realisation pressed down upon her shoulders; whatever she might have thought, whatever she might have believed in the past, Gene Hunt had been real, and, if the file was to be trusted – and knowing Anthony Malcowitz's thoroughness, she had implicit belief that it was – he was still alive.

A small droplet of water spattered onto the file, and it took her a moment to realize that she was crying, rivers of tears running silently and profusely down the plains of her face, splashing onto the words in front of her and blotting the old ink of the file. Wiping her streaming eyes on the back of her sleeve, she attempted to stem the flow, her vision blurry and unfocused for several moments as her chest heaved upwards with the force of her breathing, the chill air slicing down her throat and into her lungs as she swallowed gasps in a desperate bid for calm.

It took several minutes, in which the world seemed to spin and the only source of clarity was the feel of the paper beneath her fingers, the black, capitalised lettering swimming before her eyes, and the soft, distant whispers that drifted to her ears on a wind that she couldn't feel, but which reached into her mind and heart and forced her heart to tighten and contract.

The first voice was foreign, dim, and distant, barely brushing her consciousness as the words slid in and out of her ears like water from a pipe."Don't go putting all your eggs in one basket, you understand?" It was vague and unknown, almost crackly, and but for the reply, she would have shaken her head and forgotten about it within a few moments... But then the reply came to her ears; it was strong, etched with regret, pain and, despite the soft tone, loud and striking to her ears.

"She's the only basket I've got, love..."

It echoed in her ears, resonating through the shell of her mind as her body shook with grief and anguish, Gene's pained, bitter voice washing over her and filling her with a sense of dread so profound that it beat against her skull. The urge to help him was overwhelming, and her heart hammered so hard in her chest that for a moment she was convinced it would crack open her ribs and burst from her chest in its desperate plea to help him. Wracking sobs shook her whole body, and pain shot through her skull and stomach, tearing at her innards like fresh shards of lead drilling through her flesh and bone.

The need to shout out was quelled in her chest as she drew the file against her, her racing heartbeat thundering furiously against the paper as she crushed it unthinkingly to her. Her teeth bit into her lip, her body curled into a tight ball, and the salty liquid continued to roll down her face as the pain in her skull, - which should, by rights have been the most prominent, wrenching agony of the two- subsided, leaving simply the stinging, searing pain of her stomach that threatened to slice her in two.

Alex's hands clenched on the file in her hands, and she dared not reach down to feel the ghostly scar that etched along her flesh, not even when she convinced herself that it was bleeding, that the metal bullet was ripping her open and forcing apart the skin that should never have been marred, tearing out stitches and leaving her wound open and gaping. She concentrated only on the paper in her hands, on the feel of its smoothly textured surface beneath her fingertips...She forced herself to forget the roar of London traffic, to ignore the pain and the fear that gripped her very being and made her tremble with horrific anticipation; when she thought she had managed it, when all she knew was the gentle grain of the paper and the slight ridge where the manufactured folds were laid, she closed her eyes, attempting to commit only the files touch to memory...

The instant her lids shut, Gene's face swam before her eyes, his voice breaking through whatever barriers of time, reality and life stood between them and booming in her ears in a manner that was both gut-wrenchingly horrible and heart-warmingly wonderful... Her sobs returned, yet they were gentler now, more sorrowful, and for a few moments she could feel a warm pressure against her fingers, contrasting with the chill that had descended upon her bones and refused to leave since she had left the hospital.

"Need yer to wake up now, Alex." His voice was soft, pleading, desperate, and she knew that if ever her heart were to break, it would be now, in this moment, where his familiar, strong, gruff, yet horrifically distant voice shattered with pain and split with anguish and made her whole being splinter into shards of piercing guilt.

"I know yer wanna punch me to kingdom come," he went on, "an' that's fine... just tell me I ain't a complete knob'ead before I cop it, 'ey?" A bubble of laughter rose up unbidden in her throat at his words, and then it transmuted into loss and grief so intense that she thought her skull might split from the pressure behind her throbbing temples. His voice reverberated through her mind, echoing in the dark, growing louder and louder until she could no longer hear the blood that pounded viciously through her head, nor the ragged, trembling rasp of her breathing as it ripped through her chest and lungs. She was briefly aware of her tears streaming ever more profusely down her cheeks, before she slipped into a fitful, grief-stricken slumber that left her even less rested than before.

---

When she awoke, the room was filled with a soft glow, the golden hue of the sunshine breaking through the crack in the curtains, bathing a small part of her face in light as she flickered back into consciousness, forcing apart her sticky eyes as she lay still. The warm tenderness of the rays caused her lips to twitch in a small smile, before her hands tightened around the file still clutched against her breast. It was slightly creased at the edges from where she had lain upon it, and she briefly berated her foolishness before sitting back up on the bed, her lip trembling as her fingers caressed down the edge of the file.

It took the sharp, stinging pain of a paper cut for her to realize that the searing agony that had previously ripped at her head and stomach had subsided, as had the torrent of echoes and whispers that had slipped through the ether.

A wave of loss and longing swept over her, and she realized that, despite her best intentions, she missed him; missed him more than she could ever have comprehended prior to this whole messy, malformed situation that she found herself plunged into. The truth, she realized, was that the moment his voice had slipped through, the moment she had deluded herself into hearing and feeling his presence, was the moment that she had felt the most alive since returning to the present day. With a shiver, she slipped beneath the duvet, tugging it up to her chest and moving to flip open the file once again with one hand, whilst sucking swiftly on her injured finger as the stinging tear in her flesh throbbed angrily.

As her eyes fell on the familiar photograph that had resided upon Gene's warrant card, there came the soft sound of smaller footsteps upon the stairs, slightly irregular, as though the person ascending were skipping steps occasionally, but walking normally for the rest of the time. A half smile tugged at her lips as she recognised Molly's light steps upon the landing, and it was only as the feet grew louder, as the floorboard outside her own room creaked tellingly beneath her daughters weight, that Alex thought to hide the files she had been given. With a hissed curse, she pushed Ray, Chris and Gene's files beneath her pillow, only just managing to hide them and throw her head down onto the pillow before Molly entered.

She waited a few moments as her daughters face peered around the door, before lifting herself slowly into a sitting position and smiling wearily. It was not an Oscar winning performance by any means, but Molly seemed content, and entered the room with a broad grin upon her face, kicking off her slippers and sliding without hesitation beneath the duvet, settling herself easily in Alex's arms and eliciting a small tinkle of laughter.

"Evan said you were sleeping," Molly murmured, head resting on her mother's chest as Alex's own arms wrapped protectively around her smaller body. "I thought you might be hungry, so he saved you some chicken..."

Alex smiled, nodding slowly as she tightened her arms a little more. "I'm starving... I don't know when my last meal was." She laughed, resting her head on Molly's and feeling the frown on the girls face as she spoke.

"It was yesterday, just before you left the hospital." Her voice was slightly agitated, and Alex could barely conceal the light ripple of laughter that shot through her chest as Molly went on. "I'd have woken you this morning, but Evan said you got up late in the night and should stay in bed..."

Alex could tell there was more to her daughter's statement than initially appeared; her voice had lilted slightly towards the end of the sentence, trailing off almost suggestively, as though imploring her mother to reveal every single iota of information that kept her from being in bed late at night. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes, stroking through Molly's brown hair with gentle fingers as she shrugged. "I just felt a little strange, that's all," she said softly. "Thought I might clear my head..."

"With whiskey?" Molly scolded.

Alex grinned despite herself; thirteen going on fifty indeed. "It was only a sip," she insisted, her facial muscles twitching with amusement as Molly instantly adopted her superior voice, taking on the knowledge of a paediatrician and the voice of a barrister as she turned angrily towards her mother.

"You shouldn't be drinking alcohol at all in your condition!" She narrowed her eyes as she went on, eyebrows furrowing together as she did so. "You've just been in a coma and had serious head trauma! You should be drinking water, eating normally, and avoiding alcohol at all-!"

Alex laughed, unable to stop herself, as Molly's young, childlike face twisted into a telling grimace, hinted with hues of red embarrassment as she attempted to adopt the superior role in their relationship and conversation. The glower on her face only served to add to the amusement, and Alex found herself drawing Molly tightly into the circle of her arms, laughing into her hair and unconsciously inhaling the familiar flowery, earthy scent of her daughter. The laughter subsided after several moments as she found herself wrapped in a cocoon of impenetrable warmth, the heart-lifting scent filling her nostrils and lungs until she was lost in the haze of motherhood, arms wrapped tightly and desperately around Molly's back.

A well of tears formed in Alex's eyes as she felt the familiar wave of protectiveness sweep over her, filling her from head to toe with nothing but love and pride. Molly stilled in her arms, returning the embrace with tenderness as she glanced up at Alex, seeing the trickle of tears that slid silently from her eyes and instantly softening the look on her face.

"Do you want me to bring you dinner?" Molly asked, edging closer against her mother, as though for reassurance that she was really there. Alex grasped her ever tighter, feeling the burning sensation at the back of her throat that always preceded violent sobbing as the tears fell thick and fast down her cheeks and guilt welled up in her chest.

"Oh Molly," she whispered through the sobs, choked up and strangled as she clung tightly to the familiar, warm body that she had cradled so many times during her life, chasing away Molly's childhood demons with a warm embrace and a laughing joke... Yet now she found herself reduced to infanthood once again as her daughter became her rock, her reassurance, just as Evan had the night before, and her head rested on Molly's as she cried uncontrollably, unable to think at all, not noticing the panicked tears that slid down the younger face as they clung tightly together.

---

It was half an hour later that Molly managed to extricate herself enough to go and fetch Alex's dinner, by which time Alex had thoroughly exhausted her tear ducts, and was simply rasping her grief in harsh breaths of air. She could feel her own repulsion building up in her stomach; she felt sick at the thought of grieving for a man when she was finally returned to her daughter, but even worse than that was the fact she had used her daughter to slake her grief, weeping on her as though she had lost something when, in actual fact, she was returned to the one person that mattered, the one that she had sworn to look after, to return to unconditionally... So why then did she feel so empty, so alienated?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Molly returned, holding a tray of food in her hands, which she set on Alex's lap before clambering back into the bed and beneath the duvet, her knees pulled tightly up to her chest as she watched her mother closely. Alex half laughed, only to choke as it transmuted into a half sob. Silently, Molly poured her a glass of water from the jug upon the bedside table, pushing it gently into Alex's hand and watching quietly and nervously as she drank it. Smiling gratefully, Alex slowly swallowed down half the glass before picking up her fork and moving to spike a small piece of chicken and pasta on the end, before putting it into her mouth almost nervously. She felt her stomach growl gratefully in response, and, surprised out of her grief by the fervent need for food, she proceeded to devour three quarters of the plateful, until her stomach felt as though it were physically bulging, and she placed the cutlery down with a small smile in Molly's direction.

"Tell Evan it was lovely," she said, swiping at her sticky eyes and watching as her daughter pursed her lips in assessment, before nodding and smiling weakly as she moved the tray away.

There was a moment of indecision after her small feet touched the floor, a moment where Molly seemed to tremble with confusion and uncertainty, before she half placed and half dropped the tray on the floor with a clatter, and clambered instantly back into the bed, wrapping her arms around her mother so tightly that for a moment Alex struggled to breathe. Tears splattered on Alex's top as Molly sobbed softly into her neck and spoke weakly in the darkness.

"I love you, Mum," she whispered, sniffling quietly as Alex's arms encircled her back.

Eyes stinging, Alex nodded, stroking the familiar soft brown hair as she spoke softly in her daughters' ear. "I know," she whispered. "I love you, too."

----

Gene awoke coated in sweat, his whole body trembling and shaking as Alex's question rang through his head; "Am I dead yet?"

The only consolation that broke through his mind was that surely, if she had died, then either the hospital or the station would have rung him, would have told him that she'd not managed to make it... But that didn't stop him snatching the telephone book from behind the sofa, flicking to the relevant page, swiping the phone from its cradle and punching in the numbers with clumsy fingers.

The lump in his throat was harsh and cold as he attempted to gulp away his worry, his blood pounding in his ears as the metal rock that blocked his airwaves seemed to scratch and scrape against his oesophagus. The dialling tone seemed to stretch on for an age, and by the time the ringing started he was clenching and unclenching his spare hand habitually against his thigh. There was a slight scuffle as the phone was lifted from its cradle, and Gene barely granted the nurse time to speak as he curtly interrupted, voice panicked and gruff as he asked for the appropriate ward, and was redirected quickly.

"I need to speak to Marion," he demanded as soon as he was through. "Tell her it's DCI Hunt... from Room 3... I need-!"

"I- I'll just go get her, Sir," the terrified nurse replied, and he could hear her scurrying away, hear her slightly high-pitched squeaking as she called for Marion, then the murmured responses and conversations, before the phone was collected up and the older woman's comforting voice reached down the line.

"Mr Hunt?" She sounded confused, and he contained a sigh of relief.

"Is she ok?" He asked, his breathing harsh, his heart hammering. There was hesitance, a confused pause, and for a moment he feared the worst. "Marion, tell me she's-!"

"She's fine, dear," she assured him softly, though her voice was evidently confused. He let go the breath he had been unthinkingly holding, just as she carried on. "Dear, is everything-?"

"Yes," he snapped abruptly. "Everything's absolutely great! Fandabbydozey! Brilliant! Fan-fucking-tastic!" His voice was angered and frustrated, and he took a few moments to calm himself before he added, in a slightly quieter, though no less gruff voice; "I'll be there in ten minutes."

He didn't wait to hear her protests, and two minutes later he'd pulled on his coat and boots and was walking out of the flat with a thundering heart and a bitter taste in his mouth.

----

**A little shorter than my normal chapters, but I thought this was a decent cut-off before the next chapter :-)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	9. She's Why You're Beautiful

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes**

**Told you it wouldn't be too long!**

**Un-betaed again, but I've gone through a fair few times, so I'm hoping it's acceptable!**

**----**

Gene's life seemed to pass by in something of a haze for weeks after that; for days, he argued with himself, considering resignation from the force before realizing that without that shred of normality, his whole life would threaten to cave in. Despite there being no Alex, and despite the initial tensions that followed the failed rescue attempt of the Tibbett kidnapping, CID returned to something marginally similar to the organised and confident state of practice that had existed prior to Operation Rose.

Alex's replacement was an astute, intelligent young man, who was as downright picky as both Sam and Alex ever had been, but held no sense of comradeship with the rest of the team. DI Haywood did his job, and left the building at the end of the day to return to his girlfriends flat; nobody attempted to stop him. Gene knew, watching the day-to-day comings and goings of the office as he so often did, that whilst he might be suffering inwardly for Alex's stint in Hospital and her continued absence from both the team and Luigi's after work, he was not the only one missing her gobby retorts and insightful comments that might sound like complete gibberish to the rest of them, but tended to result in a collar.

He'd found Ray, Chris and Shaz in the canteen one morning, discussing in low voices the fact that DI Haywood was just not fitting in. He'd had to stand outside to prevent the inevitable halt in conversation that he knew would occur were he to join them, listening into the rest of the exchange with intrigue pricking at his ears.

"The Guv don't like him," Ray had said. "An' if the Guv don't like 'im, then 'e won't fit in!"

"Guv didn't like Sam for months," Chris interjected, and Gene could only imagine the dark glower that Ray had sent his way at that point. "He worked alright in the end."

"That's 'cause Tyler saved 'is bacon. An' besides, it ain't that- he just ain't Drake; Guv's never gunna like another DI like that..." There was a moment of silence, before Chris spoke again, voice as dim-witted as ever.

"You still reckon 'im an' Drake were bonking?"

Shaz had sighed in exasperation, whilst Ray had snorted his amusement at the concept. "Don't be a twonk, Chris."

"But-"

"Reckon he wanted to though, don't you?" Shaz had said, her voice tentative and shy.

"Can't blame 'im – tits an' arse like that? Guv's only human." Ray's reply had been met by Shaz's evident huff of distaste, and after glancing round the door, Gene had seen her roll her eyes.

"That's really disrespectful, Ray," Chris said, and Gene had barely been able to hold back the grin on his lips as his DC attempted hopelessly to adopt the air of intelligence. "You're objectifying an innocent, defenceless female, and-"

"Poof!" Ray snorted with disgust, whilst Shaz seemed to melt with warmth, her voice instantly taking on a sweet tone that should never have been publicly witnessed.

"Aw, baby!"

At that moment, Ray had opted to leave, and Gene had hurriedly doubled back so as to pass the disgusted Ray in the corridor with no sign that he had been listening in. Biting back a wave of anger at the knowledge Ray had been so casually crude about Alex, he had merely nodded his head and slipped into the canteen with an attempt at nonchalance.

The Super noticed the teams difference, too; though the number of collars was reasonably steady, there was no denying the loss of team unity within CID, and it was evident that the loss of one of the senior officers had hit hard. Gene vaguely took the time to compare it to when they had lost Sam, wondering briefly if they had been as withdrawn from their jobs this time two years ago as they were now. He had recalled the sight of Chris and Ray's faces back at Manchester the day they heard, and the whole atmosphere of the office before the three of them had transferred to London. He had recalled the amount of drink he had consumed, and the number of cigarettes he had smoked, before sharply reminding himself that, whether Alex was working with them or not, she wasn't dead, and he had no reason to treat her as if she were.

And so, every day, he visited her.

He had tried to stay away after seeing her that night, receiving another warning from Marion as he'd stormed in during the dead hours. He'd even managed to stay away, until nine thirty the next evening, when he had promptly stormed into the hospital and demanded that he didn't care when the visiting hours had ended, because he was going to see her. After that, they'd soon become used to his presence, and simply stopped arguing after the first few vain attempts of 'we can't let you in'.

After a few weeks, the flowers had stopped coming.

The room, which had previously retained some similarity to a large botanical garden, suddenly became sterile and hospitalised. He had shifted uncomfortably the first day that they were absent, and after half an hour picking at his shirt cuff and cringing at the stink of antiseptic, he'd left, returning later with a bunch of flowers that he'd picked up at a garage nearby. For a moment, he'd felt guilty, as though she deserved more than these cheap plants in a glass jug, but at the same moment that he considered tossing them into the rubbish bin, Marion had appeared, smiling warmly at him and offering to find him a vase.

From then on, whenever they began to wilt, he picked up some more. He realized as he did it that he was becoming more and more like a clichéd, lovesick teenager by the day, but as he spent more time in the room, as he spoke more to Marion across the small scrubbed wooden table in the Hospital canteen, he realized that he had lost all sense of self. The more time he spent with her, the more he became certain that he couldn't leave Alex alone, and that certainty was only further solidified when Marion began, in turn, opening up to him.

The more she spoke about her husband, Frank, the more Gene realized what he would be missing if he walked away.

---

It was only five in the evening, and Gene had already been sat in Alex's room for over half an hour, absently mumbling to her about the day's events, reciting cases and informing her of leads, in the hope that sooner or later she would wake up and leap to her feet, telling him he was missing something vitally important in the case itself. Though it never happened, he found it an odd source of comfort, and he was busy telling her about the murder case they had closed that morning when Marion walked in, smiling warmly and walking to the opposite side of the bed, where she rested her hand lightly over Alex's. Gene looked up into her eyes, seeing an oddly haunted look, before she spoke, ousting the expression with a gentle smile.

"How about a cuppa, hey?"

He might have said no, were it not for the blatant need for company which shone out from her eyes. So he nodded, standing up and lightly squeezing Alex's hand, feeling slightly scrutinized as Marion watched him, and opting, with something akin to gut-wrenching disappointment, not to drop a kiss on Alex's forehead before he left. He followed Marion out, drawing his coat closer around himself and allowing her to lead him down the corridor, towards the quiet, somewhat desolate canteen, where only one other person sat, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

Without asking, Marion ordered two coffees, before heading quietly over to the most distant corner table, scrubbed clean, but with a magazine left deserted upon its surface. Gene sat down opposite her, taking the coffee with a small smile, and silently wishing that it wouldn't be so frowned upon for him to take out his hip-flask and throw in a little extra flavour.

The moment his behind touched the seat, Marion was talking, her voice soft, wrenched with emotion, and causing a large lump to form in his throat as she did so.

"It's my Frank's anniversary today," she told him sadly. Gene frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion, despite the knowledge that he should be showing greater concern for her wellbeing than for the knowledge that he was momentarily lacking. "My husband," she said, smiling weakly at him through tearful eyes.

"Sorry..." Gene muttered, feeling useless and glancing hopelessly away. "I didn't-"

"I don't want your pity, lad," she laughed, shaking her head. "No, nothing like that... But I would like to tell you about him- is that alright?"

With the uncomfortable lump trebling in size within his throat, Gene nodded mutely, instantly lifting his coffee cup to his lips and swallowing a large, scalding hot mouthful with difficulty. Marion smiled, tentatively placing her hand on his arm for a few brief moments before she spoke. And deny it as he might later on, he listened, empathising with every word she said, and comparing it, without conscious thought, to the woman he had left sleeping in the room down the corridor.

---

"We met when we were twenty," she said, smiling softly. "We were inseparable..." she told him, meeting Gene's eyes almost knowingly. "I'd known the moment I saw him that life would never be the same again; he was my everything, my whole life – the world turned around him, like the earth around the sun... I couldn't imagine being without him."

"Why would yer?" Gene murmured, taking another sip, feeling his stomach churn with recognition. "If 'e made yer 'appy, I mean, then yer didn't need -."

She shook her head, face sad as she spoke again, voice low, less alive than it had been moments before. "He was all I thought I'd ever need, Gene. I let him in, and forgot what it was like to have a night with friends, or a visit to my mother; I didn't realize what I'd missed out on until he was dying and I had nobody to talk to. I flipped through my phone book, and every person in there, I hadn't spoken to in years... So I sat with him for four more years, waiting for him to wake up, knowing the cancer wouldn't get any better, but completely incapable of turning the machine off for fear of losing him... I let four years of my own life slip away – didn't see anyone, I didn't do anything, I didn't have drinks with my friends, and I didn't go to the pictures... Then one morning he died, and suddenly, there was nobody to turn to; he'd gone, and they'd all given me up for lost to the marriage twenty years ago. I ended up trawling back home with my tail between my legs, spending two years with my poor old mother before I could even face the world again." She smiled sadly, covering his hand with hers before she went on."

"Now, I'm not saying don't visit her; I'd never say that... But you have friends, and a job, and a life to fall back on. Don't you go talking yourself mental sitting there in a room by yourself when you could be doing something else; she'd never forgive you for it, I suspect."

Gene sighed, downing the last dregs of his coffee and shaking his head. "Ain't the same, Mar," he murmured, using the nickname he had adopted for her as he began crunching the Styrofoam cup in his hands. "They're just blokes who drink an' smoke an' compare the latest pairs o' tits they got their mitts on..." He sighed, tossing the remnants of his paper cup onto the table. "They don't trust me, anyway," he murmured, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and ignoring Marion's reproachful glare as he lit up. "I fucked up one time too many- don't deserve their respect." He took a large drag, ignoring the uncomfortable twisting in the pit of his stomach as Marion shook her head, smile reeking of sympathetic consolation as she spoke.

"It's not them that don't respect you, Gene," she said softly, "it's you yourself."

"Can yer blame me?" He retorted, eyes flashing with anger.

Marion sighed. "No, dear, but it won't do you any good to sit there blaming yourself for everything; accidents happen, Gene. Sometimes the only thing to do is accept them. Your young lady won't think any less of you for not-"

"I've told yer before," Gene interrupted, "she ain't my young lady- never was." The drag he took on the cigarette was even greater than the last, the ash falling unchecked onto the wooden table.

"Well, be that as it may," Marion said, sounding disbelieving of his previous statement and causing Gene's brow to furrow in frustration, "she won't blame you for getting on with your life; especially if you're not even her man anyway!" Her eyes were telling and Gene ground his teeth angrily, giving her a terse nod.

"Yeah, well, maybe it ain't her who needs the visit," he took another large smoke, ignoring the sad look in Marion's eyes as she reached tentatively across the table, attempting to place her hand over his once again; he pushed it unthinkingly aside, bitterly unable to apologize, even when he saw the hurt flash across her face.

"You'll make yourself ill, Gene," she told him softly. "You'll bury yourself in a pit of hatred, and you'll never claw your way back out again; it isn't worth the pain, dear."

He stood up, pushing his chair back and keeping his eyes averted as he shook his head, voice soft and low, reeking of pain and honesty as he answered her. "You're wrong, Mar," he murmured, "she's worth every lousy second; I ain't givin' up on her." Without a second glance, he stubbed his cigarette out, ignoring the black mark he left behind and flicking the dead end into a nearby bin. He'd barely left the canteen before the hipflask was in his hand, and he was gulping down a mouthful of fiery whiskey, ignoring the disapproving glances from the passing nursing staff.

---

A few minutes later, he was back at Alex's bedside, his hand loosely grasping her own as he looked down at her sleeping face, Marion's words echoing in his ears as he stared at her, with utterly helpless need welling up in his chest.

He'd known the moment he saw her that he was fucked, really; he'd seen her face, almost caught a glimpse of her knickers in that hooker dress, and had a good grope of her tits, and an hour after meeting her he was lost. She'd walked into Luigi's the next evening, dressed like some sort of model, in that white leather jacket that never ceased to make her look sexy even a year on, and he'd thought back then that it would all go away with a shag; once he got to rip that jacket off and lose himself in her body, it would've gone away...

But then she'd spoken; she'd been clever, she'd been funny, she'd been utterly bonkers, and perfectly lewd, and he'd never managed to shake off the growing warmth that filled his stomach whenever she was around. He'd watched her shag that Thatcherite, he'd wondered on countless occasions if she was bonking Evan White, and all the time he'd known that it would always be more than a shag; if he ever got his hands on her, he wouldn't be able to let her go.

He'd known it for so long it ached.

He'd taken to severing contact with her as soon as possible in the weeks that led up to the shooting, because he knew that if he held her too long, or hugged her too close, he'd delude himself, he'd lose himself in the smell of her hair and the warmth of her touch, and moments later she'd slap him away, tell him to keep himself to himself...

There'd been moments he'd almost caved- moments he'd nearly fooled himself into believing she felt the same; the interview room, the office, her flat... he'd wanted her so much it was painful. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ever torn himself away; at others, he wanted to claw out his eyes for passing up the chance.

But Marion's words had hit home hard, even through the shell of his denial; he'd never stopped wanting her, never stopped the irrepressible urge to spend time at her side, to impress her, to protect her. For months she'd been his everything; every waking hour had been spent in her presence, and it felt as though she consumed him, as though she was all he needed, wanted, cared for... She became his one irreplaceable source of happiness, the constant source of comfort and support at the end of a bad day, and now-

Now he felt lost, even more adrift than he'd professed to be before, and the fact of the matter was that being here with Alex was as close to normality as he could get.

Ray and Chris were poor substitutes; they tried, he knew, but even when Alex had been around, there'd been little communication on their long nights in Luigi's. It usually consisted of him and Alex at one table, Chris and Shaz at another, and Ray attempting to pick up the latest bird who walked into the bar.

Nowadays, they bought him drinks, and they tried to make jokes, but neither Chris nor Ray was enough; Shaz had rapidly become his voice of reason, but she was with Chris, planning the wedding, smiling at whatever cheesy line Chris failed to execute properly, and in Luigi's, it felt as though she was barely even there...

He felt alone, and isolated.

Nothing but holding Alex's hand gave him any sense of hope anymore; his job was the same as ever, full of scum bags who deserved to be hung by their bollucks, but there was no voice in his ear telling him to be rational, nothing holding him back when the rage swooped in and he lost control... He'd battered five suspects until they were bleeding and close to unconsciousness since she'd slipped into her coma, and received two warnings from the Super about controlling his temper...

It hadn't changed anything.

Unless she was there, acting as the calming influence that had always had some overwhelming hold over him, he was well and truly fucked. And there was no point in denying it, when with every breath his chest ached for her, with every sip of whiskey he wished she was matching him drink for drink across the table, with that teasing smile on her lips, and that coy flirtation that made his stomach flip...

He knew it was wrong to sit here, wasting his life away in a hospital room on the slight off-chance that someday she may or may not awaken, but he couldn't help it; there wasn't anyone else like her. He'd tried, when she'd been around and rebuked his advances, to replace her in his affections with countless women, but all that he'd ever managed was a brief flirt, occasionally a kiss on the cheek, a promise to call, even though the moment their backs had turned he'd forgotten their name in lieu of the woman behind him, seated at their table with a glass of red wine and a knowing smirk on her lips.

Until Jenette, he hadn't ever gone through with his intentions; he'd spent days trying to bring himself to work off aggravation towards her- whenever they argued, whenever she stormed off up to her flat, whenever he made a smutty comment that went unreturned, he'd turn his attention to one of the other women in the bar, and try with all his might to convince himself it was a good idea to go home with them... it never worked. He'd sigh, take a number, and never hear from them again; if they came into the bar, he didn't talk to them. Each time, he drifted back up the stairs towards Alex's flat, and found himself on her sofa half an hour later, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and Alex's long, lithe, toned body stretched across the seat opposite him.

Each time, he told himself to stop being so weak.

Each time, he scolded himself, told himself that he was a fool, that he should have taken the girl home and spent the next several hours working out his aggravation and forgetting the perfect body, hair, and face of Alex Drake.

Each time, the moment she opened the door, he was glad to be there.

And the fact of the matter was, whether she was sleeping or awake, his feelings hadn't changed, and wherever she was, was exactly where he wanted to be.

So he stayed; paying no heed to Marion's warnings and experience, he kept coming- because if Alex woke up, Gene wanted to be there.

He wanted to be there, to wrap her in his arms and press a fierce kiss to her lips, to apologise over and over with actions that spoke more meaning for him than his baffled words ever could. He wanted to be here with her, to tell her once and for all that he knew now, that he realized how much she meant to him, how much he needed her, wanted her, craved her, adored her... He wanted her to slap him away, scream blue bloody murder, and then fall into his arms, weak with relief and exhaustion...

He knew he'd take whatever abuse she handed him; because she was everything.

---

Despite his private and most heartfelt inner declaration that she was life and all it entailed, as Gene sank into his latest glass of whiskey that evening, Ray at his side speaking lewdly about the large pair of knockers he'd managed to get a hand on after a date the previous evening, he couldn't help but feel a renewed wave of loneliness as Marion's words washed over him.

It wasn't like it was a new feeling; he'd known since she'd landed in hospital that Alex was pretty much his only regular social engagement, and he hadn't needed nor wanted the reinforced clarity of it. But there it was; the gaping, horrific truth of the matter, was that he didn't have anyone else- it was always Alex... Only Alex.

The realisation was horrible; Ray and Chris had been with him for years, but Sam was the only person he'd ever allowed close into his life in any way that wasn't just work. He and Annie had always been round Gene's and his wife's for dinner once they finally got their arses in gear, and he knew that the hole where Sam should have been had only felt filled when Alex had sashayed into his life with her short skirt and her brains and her fierce temper and her irresistibly sexy smile... She'd replaced Sam – no, he told himself, she didn't replace him... nobody would replace Sam -but she had given him those same feelings of assurance, of worth, and, though he'd only realized it recently, she had somehow filled the aching, gaping hole that had been there for the last two years, but he had never really paid heed to; she'd replaced his wife in his affections, of that there was no question, but she'd been so much more than that- he'd felt things for her that overwhelmed him, that were completely foreign.

He'd thought he loved his wife, or at least respected and cared for her, but this had been different, from day one, and though he'd never realized it, his wife had never been able to fill the part of him that hurt so much, the part that needed a slap, a yell, a love-hate relationship that was as back and forth as a yo-yo-artist on speed, the part that needed, through it all, even after heated arguments and unresolved debates, the reassurance of warm, slender arms around his waist, and the scent of inarguably female shampoo in his nostrils...

She'd reshaped him, filled the aching pain, stopped the bitterness and the loathing, so much so that she had put him in a position of such inexplicable happiness, he had become a different person; it was hard to believe that two years ago he had just watched a marriage of twenty years fall to pieces, and attended the funeral of the one real, close friend he had allowed himself since his brother's death.

When Alex had arrived, there was a smirk on his lips whenever he glanced in the mirror in the mornings; there was a flirtatious glimmer in his eyes, a slight lift in his step as he strolled into CID... He'd let her in, more than she realized – more than he himself had realized - and she'd never have needed to ask him to; she'd wormed her way into his heart, settling at the very centre of his chest, causing his pulse to skip and the adrenaline to pound, his head spinning, hands clamming up with nervous sweat the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was a teenager...

But she wasn't there now.

The fact he'd let her in, and felt her heal him, felt her mould him into a person that was able to glance in the mirror in the mornings without feeling either fear or guilt, and the fact that he had watched her belief and trust for him blossom, made no difference now.

She wasn't there providing that support, and though he'd felt unstable before, now he felt as though he were balancing on a tight-rope with a fifty kilogram weight on his left arm, plummeting and plunging down into unfamiliar darkness, darkness which was blacker and more bleak than any other type he'd ever known. He could feel hundreds of pairs of hands grappling at him uselessly as he fell, attempting to stop the plummeting doom that was his fall, but he knew, without a trace of a doubt, that there had only ever been two people who would have the power to stop his descent, to drag him back up to the surface and allow his head to break through into the clean air again, only two people who could have given him cause to breathe his relief...

But both of them were lost to him now.

Sam was forever out of reach, lost in another pit of darkness somewhere, so far away that Gene wasn't sure his old friend would even be able to remember him; he was gone, he was unreachable, and there was no denying it.

But Alex?

He wasn't even sure whether she was alive or dead. How did you tell? At least when someone died, when someone's body stopped working and their heart stopping beating and their brain stopped sending out signals, at least then you could know, either way, that they were gone for good- you could drink yourself stupid, bury yourself in a pit of despair and then arise from it with a slight hunch in your shoulders but a grim smile on your face...

Alex wasn't dead, though- at least not officially.

She was asleep -somewhere between the two plains of life and death, if there was any truth in the things he had heard about coma victims' experiences. She was swirling in a mass of grey, stricken with imbalance between the white and the black, blurring the line of certainty and unsure which side she was meant to fall towards... And Gene felt useless, because either way, there was nothing he could do to help.

Was he meant to grieve for her? Was he supposed to give up, say goodbye and move on, ignoring the fact that she was still there in body, that however much she might be sleeping, her heart was still beating, and her blood was still warming her body?

Or was he meant to stay? Was he supposed to sit here and wait for her, spend however many days, weeks, months or years as was necessary making his daily visit, in the hope that she would someday awaken? Was he meant to forget that he himself was still here, moving, talking, feeling, grieving, and simply sit there hopelessly? Or did he leave her, carry on with his life and try to live as he thought she would want him to, even if that meant him not visiting, not seeing her...?

He threw his whiskey down his throat, just as Ray nudged him firmly with his elbow, pointing lewdly towards a pair of girls who had just entered the bar, both in their mid to late twenties and wearing short skirts and low cut tops that said they'd just been clubbing. Ray's grin was wickedly suggestive, but Gene could barely even manage a half-hearted twitch of the lips in recognition, and but for the fact Ray had leapt from his chair and offered to buy them drinks a second later, he would have gone up the stairs and slept.

He watched as Ray pulled out chairs and leaned in to whisper in the ear of the tanned, dark-haired girl, his hand resting lightly on her waist as Luigi poured drinks, with a disapproving glance at the redhead who was leaning on her hand and smiling suggestively at Gene, her spare hand dancing across the wooden bar and gently teasing across his.

"I'm Polly," she smiled, flashing white teeth at him, bright, caramel brown eyes dancing flirtatiously. Gene's stomach twisted, his eyes meeting hers properly for the first time, blue locking with brown as he gulped down the lump in his throat. Her eyes weren't the same as he wanted, and there was no denying that; there were no flecks of green staring back at him, simply seas of brown that were completely open, with none of the mystery that flipped his stomach, and none of the trust he had come to rely upon...

She wasn't the same, but if he didn't look too hard, if he squinted just a little, he could delude himself, in the dim light, that her red hair was really brown, that her curls were slightly tighter, and the cheekbones ever so slightly higher... but it was the name that clinched it, and he knew it the moment he extended his hand, gracing her with a lopsided, if a little forced, smile.

"Gene," he said, feeling her soft hand close around his rougher one, heart pounding slightly as he glanced down at her slender fingers, painted red on the tips of her nails... he didn't fail to notice that when his own grip slackened, Polly's remained gentle around his hand, her chin still resting on her other one as she swiftly interlaced her fingers through his. He didn't bother to resist, sparing only a small glance at Ray, who was grinning and flushing simultaneously in front of his busty brunette, before allowing Polly to pull his hand to her lap, placing it smoothly on her thigh.

His eyebrows flew up into his hairline, and he couldn't help the small tug of amusement at his lips as her sultry, soft voice drifted into his ears. "And what do you do, Gene?" She murmured, leaning slightly closer.

From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Luigi shake his head, but a moment later he'd tilted his head so that the stout Italian was well out of his line of sight, his long fingers stroking her leg through the fabric of her dress as he answered her, voice falling to a low growl. "I'm a copper," he told her, shifting his stool slightly closer as he murmured, "you been behaving yourself?"

Polly grinned, her plump lips framing her smile as she leant closer, speaking softly into Gene's ear with obvious intent. Gene didn't miss the look of approval Ray sent his way, nor did he manage to block out Luigi's glower as he slammed the glass he was cleaning down onto the wooden surface of the bar. He gulped back the guilt that threatened to swell in his stomach, turning his face so that his lips were an inch from Polly's ear, so close that she could feel the slight hitch of his breath as she spoke. "Only in the right hands, _copper_..." The extra emphasis sent a shiver down Gene's spine, and despite the waves of revulsion that rose up, he couldn't help the slight pounding of attraction and arousal, his fingers tightening in the flesh of her thigh as he answered her, his breath rough and slightly ragged.

"And in the wrong hands?" He asked, feeling the conflicting emotions in his stomach rising and battling with one another like wild animals.

He felt her smile against his cheek. "Oh, I'm absolutely wicked..."

Gene smirked. "Really?"

"Absolutely..." she waited a few seconds, lingering at his ear for effect before whispering, her voice warm and soft, "want to see?"

He gulped, glancing down at his hand on her thigh as though realizing where it was for the first time, and then suddenly, he was meeting her eyes, nodding as he pushed away the nagging thought at the back of his mind that said she wouldn't be enough, that it would never be enough, that she couldn't ever replace Alex...

"Your place?" Gene murmured, seeing her grin in welcome flirtation.

"No need," she smirked, linking her fingers through his and tugging at him lightly as she led him from the bar, throwing her friend - who was currently sat with her hand in Ray's lap - a lusty wink, before drawing Gene out into the cool chill of the night, leading him around the corner and into a dark alley that Gene had never really paid alot of attention to. The moment they were in shadow, Polly turned, pushing him up against the wall and pressing her lithe, young body into his, her mouth covering his own as her tongue swiped across his lower lip. A soft moan rose in her throat as Gene's hands slid gently to her waist, though his mouth was rendered unmoving as indecision swept over him.

It all looked well and good on paper; a quick shag in a dark alley, meaningless and sweaty, with no commitment, no strings, and no need for the cursory first date, or even the purchase of a drink... He'd gotten here without trying, and the part of him that wanted to move on, wanted to heed Marion's warning and start living his life, was aching for the freedom and the casual unimportance of the whole thing... But the other part knew that it would just end up like another Jenette; he'd regret it, he'd plead for it never to have happened... and just because she had the curls and the brown eyes and the flirtatious grin, it wouldn't make it better.

Sure, he could forget it, if only for a few minutes, when his eyes were closed and his mouth was on hers, but he couldn't mistake her for Alex, not really; he knew they'd taste different, and that, even though he'd never tasted Alex's mouth, this woman couldn't measure up to it. And he knew Alex's scent like his own name, and the fruity scent inhabiting this woman's hair wasn't anywhere near the same; there was no spice, no heat, no gentle underlying scent of red wine and hairspray that drove him inexplicably wild...

"Gene?"

He hadn't realized when she'd pulled away, but Polly was looking at him, her face in shadow, her large lips the only part of her that was really discernible, and he could feel himself gulping as he watched her chew lightly and nervously on her lower lip.

"Is everything ok?" She asked, concern and worry evident as she stepped slightly away from him. He couldn't help it; a moment later he pulled her close again, feeling her shiver in anticipation as he nodded, pushing away his doubt as he spoke.

"Fine," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I'm fine, Bolly, just fi-"

"It's Polly," she grinned, pushing her face closer to his and nibbling lightly at his lip once more before whispering against his mouth, "you sure you're ok, copper?"

In answer, he put a hand to the back of her head, fiercely attempting to devour her mouth, his tongue slipping around hers as she threaded her fingers through his soft blonde hair, chuckling against her mouth as his other hand dug into her waist, holding her firmly against him as he nipped and sucked at her mouth.

For a moment, he was lost.

For a moment – a blissful, wonderful, perfect moment – he forgot everything.

For a moment, he could delude himself, could pretend that the mouth that was assaulting his own with such enthusiasm wasn't a random pick-up from Luigi's, but Alex. For a few seconds, he could feel her willing mouth and heated body against his and all he could think was that he wanted to go further, to lose himself within her... But then he breathed, inhaling through his nose in an effort not to break the kiss, and suddenly he could feel it all once again; the fruity scent was cheap and sickly sweet in his nostrils, and he had to jerk her closer, breathing only briefly through his mouth as he kissed her desperately, feeling her hands slide enthusiastically down his neck, over his shoulders, down his chest...

He froze as her fingers brushed over his pounding heart, as suddenly he felt the burning sensation of guilt, resting there across his chest, coming from his breast pocket, enflamed and painful, and suddenly he was holding her at arm's length, tearing his mouth from hers as her fingers traced teasingly across the flat, rectangular shape that her hand came into contact with. She looked up at him, confused once more, but a moment later she was pressing another kiss to his mouth, attempting to capture his lips again in a bid to continue, but the moment was lost.

Guilt rose up in Gene's stomach like a cresting wave in a tsunami, and even as one hand pushed his eager companion away, the other slid knowingly into his pocket, feeling the familiar leather of the two wallets that rested there, gulping with a mixture of relief and revulsion as he spoke, his voice cracked and apologetic, dripping with disgust and disdain as he attempted to meet her eyes, and failed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, glancing at the floor and seeing her shift her feet in embarrassment.

"If you don't want to be outside, we can always get a cab and-"

Gene interrupted with a quick shake of the head, wetting his lips with his tongue before he went on. "No... It's not that, it's-."

"Do you often have trouble with-?"

"I'm not having trouble!" Gene retorted quickly, though in truth he didn't expect her to believe his words, no matter how much he attempted to enforce the point.

"You're not?" Polly asked, her eyebrows clearly raised and her tone full of disbelief. "Then why can't you-?"

Gene hesitated, glancing out into the lit street and seeing the fluorescent orange glow, wondering how best to word his answer without coming across like a completely heartless bastard. "Bolly." He said finally, as if in explanation. "It's complicated, but-"

"My name isn't Bolly!" She snapped, angrily shoving away from him and moving towards the street with disgust on her face. Gene stood up, snaking an arm around her waist and jerking her back, grunting painfully as she smashed her heel into his toe, but holding her firmly as he spoke, his voice soft, full of apology and bitterness.

"I know you're not," he told her, "I know, you're not Bolly... Bolly isn't- you're not her. I didn't mean it to sound like that..." he felt her fall still in his arms, saw her turn her eyes towards his, and noted that, whilst they still housed disbelief, the disgust and revulsion had lessened. He loosened his hold on her, simply resting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I shouldn't 'ave come out 'ere with yer..."

"Are you married?" She asked, and he saw a flicker of anger in her eyes. Gene couldn't withhold the bitter laugh that left his throat, and shook his head with mirth.

"No, I ain't married," he assured her, still shaking his head in amusement. "Nothing like that, I just-"

"You're gay?"

Gene groaned, pushing her away and running a hand through his hair. "I ain't a bloody fairy! It ain't anything like that! She's just-"

"Girlfriend?"

"If yer'd shut up fer a minute, I'd bloody tell yer!" Gene snapped, feeling his anger and frustration bubble away in his belly, irrationally directed towards the woman in front of him as he ran a restless hand through his hair, mussing it more than he realized as he breathed, attempting to reign in his temper at the sight of her, clearly cold, unnerved, and a little frightened; he felt like shit.

"I'm sorry," he said again, voice muffled as he glanced towards the floor. "Didn' mean ter yell, just got a bit... y'know..." He shrugged, as though it was self-explanatory, but all Polly did was glance at him with uncertainty.

"I should go..." she said softly, turning back towards the streetlights and watching him nervously. Gene watched her for a moment, before shaking his head and jogging to her side, turning her around swiftly, then pushing a ten pound note in her hand and looking at her with what he hoped was sincere apology burning in his blue eyes.

"Get a cab, 'ey? An' go straight home- I'll make sure yer friend knows you're ok..."

Polly nodded wordlessly, biting at her lip for a few brief moments, before words seemed to burst from her mouth like water from a pipe, unchecked, and almost blurred into one as she sought desperate reassurance. "Did you fancy me?"

Gene blinked, taken aback, but nodded slowly, his jaw tight, eyes sincere. "Yeah..." he murmured. "I did... I mean, I do... just... just get yerself home, ok?"

"So I wasn't just some girl in a bar?" She asked, disbelief and distaste evident as she glanced away, hailing a cab as it passed down the street. It pulled up on the kerb, but Gene ignored it as he thought quietly to himself, gulping slightly.

The honest answer was, he'd fancied aspects of her body that reminded him of Alex; he hadn't fancied her as a person... was he meant to lie? If she'd had straight hair and blue eyes he'd have paid no attention whatsoever...

"You remind me of someone," he said honestly, glancing at the floor and waiting for the inevitable slap. "I jus' got carried away.... 'm sorry."

He waited a few seconds more, bracing himself for the sting of skin-on-skin... when it didn't come, he glanced up, seeing the sympathy burning in her eyes and feeling his stomach churn with disgust at the pity he had neither earned nor would he ever come to deserve.

"You love 'er?" Polly asked, suddenly shy, nothing at all like the ballsy girl who had been so suggestive in the bar... Gene gulped to himself.

"She's important," he said, feeling Polly's knowing look on his face, just as his stomach was pierced with a sharp, cold, metallic stab of denial, mixed with guilt and hurt.

"Suppose that's better than just being a shag," Polly murmured sadly. Gene met her eyes, just as she lifted a hand to his cheek and smiled weakly. "See you later, Copper," she whispered, brushing the briefest of kisses across his lips before pulling away. Gene only nodded, stepping forward and opening the door to the cab, watching as she settled into the seat and gave directions to the driver. He knelt slightly so that his face was on a level with hers, giving her a sad, apologetic smile as he spoke.

"Sorry," he murmured, touching a hand to her shoulder. "You should-"

"Y'know, if you wanted to talk, I got my BA in Psychology at-"

Gene shook his head, smiling slightly at the irony. "Yer alright," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "I ain't the talkin' type."

Polly nodded, glancing at the driver, who was tapping his fingers impatiently on the leather steering wheel, before turning her gaze back to Gene. "Do I get to see you again then, Copper?"

He smiled sadly, shaking his head. "I wouldn' waste yer time, love," he murmured. "Get 'ome, 'ave a cuppa, a shower, an' curl up in bed with whatever crappy magazine it is you women obsess over, 'ey?"

She smiled, nodding sadly. "I didn't think so. Bye then, Gene."

He nodded in reply, biting back a wave of nausea as he spoke again. "Take care... Polly."

A moment later, he had shut the door, and she was driving away. Once the car turned the corner, he turned around, leaning helplessly against the wall as he breathed heavily, his stomach churning with revulsion as he attempted to collect himself.

Ten minutes later, he was climbing the stairs to Alex's flat, ignoring Luigi's glare of disapproval as he did so.

---

**Yeah, I'm still being evil to Gene lol... sorry.**

**Let me know what you thought!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	10. Sugar And Spice

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**I apologise that Gene is still suffering... there's not long left of this story now I don't think – 5 chapters or so, probably, two of which are already written – so I hope you'll stick by him and find out what happens...**

**Until then... well... I'm sorry?**

**---**

Gene was in the bed less than half an hour later, his body having been thoroughly washed, his teeth scrubbed, and several whiskeys thrown down his throat, though it nothing to quell the guilt and anger that rose up in his chest every time he dared to think back on it.

He'd seen the same feelings reflected in Luigi's eyes as he'd walked up the stairs, and knew the other man was disgusted, knew that if Gene hadn't already been in possession of the key, the old Italian would never have allowed him in; Gene couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed.

The fact of the matter was, he was angry with himself for having let anything happen; even the flirting - which might have been harmless had it not escalated with such speed and indecency- had turned his stomach and roused feelings of guilt so intense that he had wanted to disappear, to be swallowed up by a large, black hole. The fact he had been as indecent as to return here, to lose himself in the familiarity of Alex's flat when he felt like he had committed the ultimate betrayal, only made him feel worse. He wished he could bring himself to go home, to sleep in his own bed without the added guilt in his stomach that said he was scum and had no right to be here...

He felt awful; and yet, despite it all, the moment he sank onto her pillow his heart rate slowed, his breathing became regular, and the pit of despair seemed to close slightly, a warm glow emanating from deep within.

He should have fled home and lost himself in his alcohol collection; he shouldn't be able to lie here, surrounded by the smell of her perfume - which he had uncharacteristically spritzed over the fading scent of her on the pillow- without feeling as though he deserved to die.

But he felt safe; she was here, whenever he needed her, and aside from the hospital, this was the only place he'd ever felt able to be himself, to let himself feel peaceful and warm, since the shooting.

It wasn't that he didn't feel guilty, exactly; more that here, whilst the guilt was at its peak and should have been unbearable, it was quenched by the knowledge that this place was so inarguably hers. Her presence was still achingly strong in the whole of the flat itself, and sitting here with his eyes closed, he could delude himself that she was at his side, less than an arm's reach away... And as long as he didn't reach out for her, nor open his eyes, he could believe it, for some perfect, beautiful seconds that seemed to save his very soul day after day.

He should have felt sick to the stomach when he entered, but all he could feel was relief, and as he laid down on the bed, his nose buried in the familiar scent that he had longed for so hungrily as he stood there in the alley, all he could think was that tomorrow, he could see her face again, could hold her cool hand in his and murmur softly to her sleeping form.

He should have felt sick; instead, he drifted off to sleep with ease.

---

_He recognised the office instantly; he'd spent years here, perfecting his environment until it was inarguably his own, unquestioningly Gene. His posters were on the wall, his trophies decorating the shelves, a copy of 'Just Jugs' tossed onto his desk amidst a messy pile of paperwork that looked to be gathering dust. His shaver rested on the filing cabinet, a glass of whiskey on the wooden desk in front of his familiar chair... but the person in the chair wasn't Gene himself. _

_He stared in disbelief at the familiar figure, his heart hammering in his chest as the slight-looking male glanced at him, grinning with good humour as he downed the whiskey at his side before standing up, walking around the desk with his familiar gait. Gene could only stare, gulping and sweating as Sam settled himself on the desk itself, his arms crossed, the leather of his jacket creaking slightly as he grinned._

"_Alright, Guv?" He asked, still grinning. _

_Gene said nothing, still aghast with confusion, disbelief and utter terror. _

"_You're tripping out, Gene," Sam said softly, and Gene flinched, his eyebrows knitting together on his forehead as his old friend spoke, the familiar mannerisms so perfectly executed, which only served to contrast even further against the slight lilt to his voice that was so un-Sam, so out of character, so utterly wrong... "You're seeing things that aren't there."_

"_Sam, I-"_

"_Polly.." he murmured softly. "Bolly..." He pursed his lips, as he went on, voice still soft as he seemed to weigh up invisible objects in either hand, alternating them up and down with a look of extreme concentration plastered across his features. "Bolly... Polly... Bolly... Polly... Bolly..."_

"_Stop it!" Gene said quietly, his eyebrows knitting together as he felt his fists clench in his pockets; Sam glanced up, grinning so familiarly that for a moment, Gene thought he'd simply misread what Sam had been saying before._

"_I'm gunna help you out, Guv," Sam smiled warmly, "just like always."_

_Gene felt himself sigh with relief, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as he watched Sam come towards him, felt the familiar hand clamp down on his arm with another lopsided grin. There were a few moments of quiet before he spoke, and his frown was evident as he did so, creasing his forehead into several lines. "You thought she was Alex," Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief, hand still on Gene's arm. His eyes darted up, flashing accusingly as he added; "they didn't even look the same!"_

"_It was the name," Gene muttered uselessly, feeling his throat flutter with nerves and guilt. "I just-"_

"_Curls, eyes, hands; Polly!" Sam's eyes flashed wickedly. " Curls, eyes, hands; Bolly." _

_He was weighing his hands up again, his eyes crinkled with confusion as his vicious grin seemed to retreat, as it was replaced with a boyish look of incomprehension... "But she's not Alex..."_

"_I didn't mean to do it..." Gene said weakly, feeling utterly useless, juvenile, like a little boy caught stealing from the biscuit tin... _

_And then Sam started talking, started chanting and rhyming in a voice that was not his own, his grin returning, crazed and maddened as his tongue flicked out at his lips; "Sugar and spice and all things nice!" He chanted. "An apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice and all things nice! An apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice and all things nice! An apple a..."_

_The words went on, a mantra of playground rhymes that Gene had not heard in years, and before his eyes flashed images of Alex, her scent twining into his nostrils, teasing him with that exotic hint of cinnamon and sweetness that caused him to groan with desire. And then there was Polly, her hair smelling of sickly sweet fruit, Marion's warning ringing in his ears as his mouth devoured Polly's, pleading for himself to live, to be alive, to forget, to stay well..._

"_Stop it," Gene murmured weakly, covering his ears in vain._

_There was teasing and taunting in Sam's voice now, a laughing, keening note that made Gene's chest ache with pain. "An apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice and all things nice! An apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice..."_

"_Stop it!" Gene shouted, the sound of Sam's voice eerie and echoing through his mind, even as he clamped his hands tighter against his ears. _

"_... all things nice! An apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice and all things nice! An apple a day..."_

"_STOP!" Gene sobbed, and he could feel the suppressed child in his chest clawing for escape, sobbing for silence, for quiet, for undisturbed sleep, even as the mantra went on and on, echoing through his brain as he doubled over in hopeless fury and pain, knees colliding with the floor as he collapsed helplessly._

"_...apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Sugar and spice and all things nice! An apple a day keeps the Doctor away!"_

_And then it stopped, suddenly, and with a start Gene glanced up, seeing Sam sat there cross-legged on the desk, an apple in one hand, a cinnamon stick in the other, looking thoughtfully at either item in turn._

"_Spice," Sam murmured, sniffing the cinnamon suspiciously. "Apple," he added, thumbing the skin of the shining red fruit. "What's it going to be, Gene?" he asked, looking up questioningly. "Fruit? Spice? Fruit? Spice? Fruit?" He raised an eyebrow, his eyes dancing as he held both out towards him. _

"_Spice?" He murmured, teasing the stick of cinnamon below Gene's nose; the scent was Alex, completely and utterly, and his knees weakened hopelessly before it was gone, replaced by Polly's sickly sweet perfume wafting under his nose. "Apple?" Sam asked._

_Gene glanced up, seeing the familiar eyes and gulping, before reaching nervously towards the cinnamon stick. His fingers closed around it, and a smirk settled on Sam's lips. _

"_Bang!" He whispered, grinning as Gene flinched backwards, hands tight on the stick of spice in his hand, even as Sam's cackling laughter, so uncharacteristic and bitterly painful, echoed horribly through the familiar room. "Poor little Genie!" _

_As Gene looked up, Sam's eyes flashed, his smile wicked and evil as he whispered, "the Doctor's coming for you."_

----

Gene flew upright with a start, the sheets stuck to his body, his shirt clinging to his skin, folded and creased with sweat. He was shivering with cold, burning up with heat, his head both pounding and numb as he gasped for breath, searching for anything in the darkened room that would offer him reassurance, composure, calm... He was ragged with pain as the air tore into his lungs, flooding him with bittersweet pain and longing that he hadn't experienced in well over a year.

It was the first time he'd truly dreamt of Sam since he'd met Alex; until she'd arrived on the scene, his nights were plagued by dark spectres of fear and anger, by images of Sam drowning, begging for help as the last bubble of oxygen escaped from his lips, as it flew up towards the surface and popped, even as he sank deeper and deeper into the chasm of darkness at the bottom of the river, trapped and incapable, his eyes pleading, hands scrabbling upwards, clawing at the water in a vain attempt to pull himself up...

It had been the same dream every night, always the same; Gene would stare, attempt to reach out, to clasp Sam's hand and drag him to the surface and kick the shit out of him for being such a tosser and ruining his coat... A few times, his head had allowed him that luxury, to drag the skinny tosser from the water and start screaming blue bloody murder at him, only to realize it was too late, only for the little colour that was left to drain from Sam's skin, and for his body to begin wasting away, disappearing into the water sodden mud until there was nothing left at all, and his own shock was so pronounced that all he could do was stumble away, stumble blindly backwards, his whole body shaking and quivering...

He'd thought they'd stopped.

He'd thought he wouldn't have to endure those dreams again.

Of course, they still plagued his mind, still tormented him, teased him, caused him immense pain when he was draped over his sofa with his brain halfway between awake and unconscious, but they weren't as vivid through the haze of alcohol, dimmed and blurred against his vision, and he'd found himself welcoming the mimicked versions, because they were bearable, and there was none of the strength of feeling and colour that had rocked his mind and tortured his insides for months on end...

But now there was this.

In some ways, he thought it was worse; at least before, Gene had directed hatred at himself, and seen nothing but pleading in Sam's eyes, seen no mimic or puppet of Sam's actions, only plain, open fear of death, of the chasm that lay beyond the line... Gene didn't know now what to make of the whole thing; the laughter in Sam's gaze had felt like a knife through the chest, his bitter disappointment cutting right through Gene and twisting in his chest with a jerk. There had been no friendship, no liking, no plea for understanding, just bitter, plain, disappointed disgust. The voice wasn't even Sam's; it was distorted, shrewd, as Alex's had been, as Alice Tibbett's voice must also have been, because none of them had voices of such terrifying beauty, none of them were so frighteningly aged and yet simultaneously immortal...

He ached, longing for comfort, for understanding, for clarity and context... but there was none. Sam's words rang in his ears, teasing, lilting, bouncing with that happy tone that only children in the playground had ever possessed, that only people with no care, no worries, no life experience could execute so teasingly, so uncaringly... The fact of the matter was, he knew they worked, knew they reflected his feelings so perfectly that he felt ill; Alex was perfect, sweet, fiery, beautiful and complex, but Polly was the safe bet- all that Polly stood for, had been a safe bet.

Because Polly was not hooked up to a machine, unmoving and silent; Polly was alive, young, full of youth and vigour that he wanted, that he craved... but he wanted Alex. He needed her. And whether she was sleeping or awake it didn't matter, because he couldn't escape her, even when he should have been concentrating on the woman he'd been kissing, on the way her hands felt in his hair and on his chest. All he'd been interested in was the fact that Alex's warrant card felt like it was on fire in his pocket, bursting into flame against his heart, feeling like a burning betrayal even though she had no claim on him, even though she should have no sway over who he saw or what he did with them...

Marion's words might well have been spoken with wisdom and experience, but he couldn't stop the burning feeling in the very pit of his stomach that said she was wrong, that he couldn't make anything out of his life without Alex.

He was anger, and bitter, resentful and distressed, but he couldn't help it; Marion didn't understand. She had been married to her husband, been in love with him, and he'd known it. She'd spent years in his arms, enjoying the finer things in life, being able to openly treasure those moments that had made her whole, made her heart ache with happiness...

The problem was that Gene hadn't been able to. He'd treasured their shared moments in Luigi's, whispered conversations and smiles across the office, but he'd never been able to openly proclaim how much they meant to him, to tell her that she was important, special and everything to him. She'd never know unless he stayed by her side and continued to visit her. They might tell him she could hear his words, but where was the proof? A few dippy arseholes woke up and said they'd heard something, someone, a friend or a loved one calling them back... but did they remember the small snatches of conversation? Could they recall the little silences and the pressure of another hand pressed into theirs? Was there any proof, if he were to tell her now how much she meant, how much he needed her, that if she woke up, she'd remember it? Or would it be wasted? Would she simply miss his words and hear the last remorseful sigh as he gave into the inevitable fact that today wouldn't be the day she woke up? And if she could hear him, could she understand a word he was saying, or comprehend it on any level? With the amount of drugs they were pumping into her body, he wouldn't be surprised if 'I miss you' was misconstrued as a whole-hearted attempt at singing the National Anthem, complete with brass band and orchestra.

That was what Marion couldn't understand, as much as she might try; she'd had years of demonstrating the depth of her feeling towards her husband, Frank, but Gene hadn't even begun to show Alex the true extent of meaning she had instilled within his life. He had forsaken chance after chance to tell her, pushing away the bugging, nagging voice in his head when an opportunity presented itself, and cursing both himself and others when the moment slipped through his fingers, and now she was out of reach, possibly forever, and the idea that she might wake up for any brief moment without him was heart-breakingly painful. It should have been easy to walk away, knowing that he had no commitments, no ties to her in any way, shape or form... but it wasn't. Perhaps if the circumstances were different-

He stopped himself, thumping his hand against the pillow with force as he let out an angry growl of frustration, swinging himself from the bed, his body quivering as he pulled off his clothes and changed into the fresh set that he had left in the laundry bag on the chair.

He should have been bothered, he told himself, that he was treating the flat as his own, when it's real owner was however far away, in a questionable and fragile state of mind, possibly lost in the dark recesses of thought that plagued her brain, but he couldn't bring himself to it; she had never turned him away... Except for that fateful day, he considered, with her explanation about the future and guns and whatever else she had pulled on him- but it didn't matter.

She had never yelled, never argued her rank and never professed to hate him, whatever he might have read into that tape. He told himself that she wouldn't have left him alone in this state of despair, although, he thought briefly, he might well have been forced to sleep on the sofa, and of course, if she were there to offer him her unwavering support, he wouldn't be in this whole mess in the first place. He was on his way to the door when he noticed the answer phone light flashing red in the dark of the living room, and after frowning in confusion for several moments, he moved closer, pressing the play button and settling himself on the arm of the sofa, lighting a cigarette with fingers that shook.

"Guv?" It was Chris' voice, sounding utterly bemused and dumbfounded as he spoke, with a loud giggling sound in the background which Gene could only assume to be Shaz. "Ray said you'd be at DI Drake's place... Shaz wanted me to tell yer- well... we were gunna wait, except... we dunno when she'll wake up, Guv..." Gene stared at the black box as he listened, his cigarette burning away in his hand as he sat there, mind spinning as Chris continued, sounding nervous and uncertain the more he progressed with his words. "It's just... well... we're gunna get married, Guv... next month... I dunno- I just-" Chris paused, and then he sighed, and Gene noticed that the joyous giggling in the background had stopped. "Sorry, Guv..." he went on, his voice softening. "I know yer want 'er awake, but-... Sorry..."

There was a click, and the message ended, but Gene could only continue to stare blindly at the little box as the statement hit him with more profound impact than he could possibly have expected. The unbearable knowledge that life was moving on, that those close to both he and Alex were moving ahead to go about with their lives, hurt more than he'd predicted.

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised by it all; Chris and Shaz's engagement had been indisputable, their wedding plans thrown out easily after Chris' brief stint of having cold feet about stepping into the unknown plains of marriage, but there was no denying that, despite Shaz's obvious desire to have Alex at the wedding if at all possible, she couldn't be expected to put her life on hold in the vague hope that her boss might be able to attend.

He shouldn't be angry, he told himself. He should be pleased for them; it didn't matter that his own marriage had gone to shit and his whole opinion on the matter had been blasted to oblivion as he labelled it with such negativities as 'imprisonment' and 'resentment'. The fact was, there was no denying that both Shaz and Chris were happy – he should have been pleased for them, pleased that they had a chance to be together and make a good go of the whole thing, in a way that he had never managed due to his own actions during the twenty or so years of marriage in which he had allowed his opinions to be contorted and swayed.

He should have rung back and offered his congratulations, should have wished them well and told them to be happy, to look after one another and not shag each other out too badly on the honeymoon... but he couldn't bring himself to.

He stood up, leaving the flat hurriedly as he tried to collect himself, to stop the swell of anger in his chest.

They were entitled to go on living, he told himself. It wasn't his place to stop them, or to wish that they would stop themselves; Alex was their DI, nothing more. He knew that, didn't he? They were colleagues more so than friends, and much as it might have been desirable to have the whole team present, it wasn't like Alex was a key to the celebrations, was it? Perhaps if she were the Matron of Honour, he would have been within his rights to expect the wedding to be held off a little longer, at least if they were claiming that Alex was the brides closest friend, or maybe the sister of either party or-

He stopped himself as he stepped into the cool night air, closing his eyes briefly as he rested his back against the wall. He shouldn't be angry, he told himself. Alex would be pleased, and surely he should be too? But Alex was unconscious, and would probably have thought Pavarotti dancing around a metal pole was the epitome of beauty at the current moment in time, and he couldn't deny that part of him was roiling with unbidden anger at the apparent lack of faith his team were showing; yes, he knew she wasn't showing signs of improvement, but then, neither were Man City, and he wasn't about to give up his faith in them.

With a sigh, he heaved himself away from the wall, his hand reaching into his overcoat and drawing out cigarette and lighter before he slid into the familiar front seat of the Quattro, listening with relish as the engine roared into life and purred with perfection as he drew out of the parking space.

---

Marion was on duty, and for a few moments, Gene had to stop, freezing in place when her eyes met his, seeing the worry and doubt in her gaze as she allowed a timid smile to grace his lips. He nodded his head in recognition, and then glanced towards Alex's door nervously. "Can I?"

"Visiting hours are over, Gene," she said sympathetically.

Gene ground his teeth looking at the wall as he managed to grind out his retort, feeling the bitterness swelling up as he did so. "It's not like it matters when I come or not," he said, cracking his knuckles in his pocket and seeing her shake her head sadly as he went on. "She's asleep twenty-four seven fer Christ's sake- she ain't exactly gunna tell me to wait till a more respectable hour, is she?"

"It's hospital protocol, Gene, I don't think-"

"I don't give two flying blue testicles whether its 'protocol'! She's in a fricking coma! She's not exactly gunna notice whether it's two in the morning or not!"

Marion sighed, her voice sad as she spoke again, "Gene, this isn't good for you! You'll drive yourself-"

He didn't hear the rest as he felt something snap in his chest, blind rage causing him to slam his fist onto the receptionists desk, feeling the familiar, and yet strangely foreign feeling of losing control, of being completely at sea, adrift from himself as he spoke angrily, spit flying from his mouth as he clenched his fists so hard against the urge to thump that his knuckles cracked and his blunt nails pierced his skin.

"Not good for me?" He snapped, clenching and unclenching his fist as he attempted to distract himself from the overwhelming anger rising up in his stomach, flames of blind fury flickering at the back of his throat. "Does it look like staying away is doing me any _bloody_ good at all? Just let me see her, fer fucks sake!"

"Gene, I really don't-!"

"Don't what?" He retorted, slamming his fist back down on the desk and seeing the pens shudder with the force of it atop the table itself. "Why are you so bothered, Marion, that I want to see my DI? 'cause as far as I can see, the conked out bloke next door gets a visit from his Missus everyday, an' you ain't said two shit's to 'er about slingin' the hook! So why me, 'ey? What is it to you?"

"Gene, I really think that you should-"

"I ain't buggering off!" He growled, narrowing his eyes.

"No, Gene," she whispered, "I know that- but do you realize that you could be wasting your life on a woman who might not even return your feelings? She could wake up – a week from now, a month, a year, twenty... She could wake up and not feel a shred of that emotion for you... do you really want to put yourself through that? Have you even considered the fact that maybe, just maybe, she won't even-?"

"When she wakes up, I don't even know if she'll want to look at me! You think I ain't thought of that?" Gene laughed bitterly, shaking his head with disbelief. "You think I ain't worried about it? Think I ain't thought about the fact she might just lamp me in the face the second I open me trap?"

"Then why are you putting yourself through this?" Marion's voice was soft as she spoke, full of aching sympathy that only furthered his anger and despise as the irrationality of her question seemed to sink in.

"Because I don't care!" He snapped, lashing out his foot against the wall in an attempt to vent his frustration. "You think I can just bugger off an' leave 'cause she's unconscious? You of all people know that's complete and utter bollucks! Just because she doesn't bloody know about it ain't gunna make it any bloody easier for me!" He fell away, his own tirade shocking him as he gulped down the nagging lump within his throat, running a hand through his hair as he avoided eye contact, his final addition soft and low, barely audible, and Marion had to strain her ears to hear it. "I can't pretend everything's alright an' bugger off like it ain't happened, Mar- I 'ave to live with it, whether I'm 'ere or not... an' unless I'm 'ere, I'm just gettin' pissed and tryin' to shag some floozy who looks like 'er..." He gulped, looking up into Marion's eyes and seeing her shoulders sag with sympathy as she walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You can't love a shell, Gene," she murmured.

He glanced at her, his eyes glimmering in the dim light of the room. "I don't," he replied, voice quiet and uncertain. "An' she ain't a shell..." he waited a moment, glancing down the corridor and into the darkened rooms before whispering, "can I see 'er?"

Marion could only nod, her hand falling from his shoulder as she allowed him to walk away, tears of sympathy and knowledge in her eyes, going unseen as Gene pushed his way into Alex's room, walking over within the dark to click on the bedside lamp, watching as her face came into view, glowing warmly in the orange lamp light as he sank into the chair, looking at her wistfully, feeling the pain in his stomach treble at the sight of her.

"Bolly..." he whispered, tracing a finger down her cheek shakily. He sighed, shuffling his chair closer and lifting her hand into his own. "Christ, Bols, I'm sorry..."

He realized then, sat there, looking at her perfect and incontestable beauty, that there should never have been any doubt about his ability to go through with the brief encounter with Polly at the bar; she couldn't compare. Though he had thought he had seen similarities between the pair, there was nothing, and it was only the sound of her name -so similar to the endearing nickname he had bestowed upon Alex from the first day they had met, so very easy to confuse when his eyes were closed and he was blocking out all reasonable thought – that had even convinced him to try. Nothing could have compared. He suspected that Brit Ekland herself could have walked in at that moment and Gene's head would only be turned for a moment, his gaze always drifting back to the woman in the bed, her eyes closed, her hair fanned behind her head, her lips parted in a slight pout as she lay there, unknowing before him...

He held her hand in his own, feeling the slender length of her fingers, seeing the slightly dry skin of her palms and noting each ridge and line in her flesh, committing it to memory, ingraining it on the very centre of his brain, burned into his mind's eye with hot rods of iron that made her completely irreplaceable... He couldn't stay away from her, couldn't be without her; in that, his certainty was absolute.

For the best part of an hour, he said nothing, staring at her blank face, listening to the pulse of her heart machine and the regulation of her breathing.

Occasionally, his hand became sweaty, and he would briefly disentangle his fingers from hers, wiping the clammy hand against his trousers before returning it to her own, squeezing reassuringly as he settled back into place.

He said nothing, and he did nothing. The only thing he saw was her; he didn't notice Marion poking her head around the door at regular intervals, and nor did he realize that the room was slowly becoming lighter, less grey, with thin rays of light breaking through the small crack in the curtains and falling on her face, ousting the orange glow from the bedside lamp as Gene's thoughts wandered, his mind consumed with the sight of her, the feel of her hand, the thought of her voice... He drifted months back, to a heated, boiling, sweaty room, where Alex had curled into his chest and stroked his delicate gold chain with fingers that had trembled, her hot, heavy breath brushing his neck and his chest as she showed him, for the first time, that she could be vulnerable, too. He remembered the hitch of her breath, the flush of her skin against his, and the fear in her voice as she'd whispered his name... he wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms once more, to capture her wandering hand on his chest, hold it close against his pounding heart and turn his head those few inches to the right to press his lips to her forehead...

He sighed, his eyes heavy as he looked at her, sleep tugging at their lids like small weights, pulling them to a close, drawing him into a deep slumber that felt both foreign and familiar as it wrapped itself around him, lulling him into the silent darkness with warmth and gentleness, its embrace welcoming and tender.

---

When Gene awoke, it was to find his head resting gently on Alex's stomach, his cheek resting on the warm fabric covering it, with his nose nuzzled gently into the clean blanket. His left arm was draped protectively across her waist, resting on the opposite side of the bed, his fingers absently tracing patterns in her palm as he became aware of her again, both shocked and warmed to find himself so well rested, to feel her hand resting easily against his own without signs of discontent. His right hand was tangled securely with her left, fingers twined around hers and palm aligning without a trace of awkwardness. He blinked, lazily lifting his head a few inches and looking at her through soft, slightly blurred eyes. He vaguely drew himself up, careful to lift his left hand as he moved his arm away from her, though his other hand kept a firm hold, thumb tracing light patterns and images into the warm skin, half-heartedly attempting to push away the wave of longing that swept over him at the simple knowledge that he had just woken up with Alex Drake.

It wasn't a complete novelty, really, he supposed. In hindsight, he'd woken up with her in the office, his hand barely an inch from hers, and he'd spent numerous nights on her sofa with the knowledge that she was next door. The difference was, he supposed, that he wasn't hungover, and he wasn't working... despite the obvious fact that she was unconscious and oblivious, and therefore she might well have pushed him away were the circumstances to differ in that obliquely plain factor, he felt something innately calming and fitting about waking beside her, and the fact that, for the first time since the shooting he had slept without nightmares, and without cold sweats. His mouth twitched as he looked at her, settling himself back in the wicker chair with his hand in hers.

The whole novelty of this situation should have worn off by now, he realized. Watching her sleep should only enchant and enthral him for so long, but somehow, even when he had seen her do nothing but rest for almost three months, the sight of her so peaceful and calm did wonderful things to him, cooling his anger and outward bitterness for these wonderful moments where he could simply watch her... He'd never been interested in watching someone sleep before; with his former wife, he'd always been much more interested in rousing her from slumber for a quick fumble, often voicing his complaints if and when she turned over and went back to sleep. In the affairs that had passed by since then, there was little other than sex involved, and it had never been him that had offered an insightful comment into 'the future'. The idea of watching someone sleep had held little appeal prior to Alex's appearance- he'd even have gone so far as to say he found it creepy, poncy, nancy- the sort of thing Sam would have done; now he couldn't seem to get enough of it.

A glance towards the clock on the other side of the room showed that he had only an hour before he had to be at work, and the knowledge that he was yet to shower and eat was nagging insistently at the back of his mind, and despite the fact he didn't want to leave, Gene knew he couldn't stay much longer. With a sigh, he picked up her hand in both of his, holding it firmly as he looked at her face, glancing briefly out into the corridor before leaning forwards, his lips coming to rest an inch from her ear as he whispered to her, voice both soft and gentle, whilst simultaneously gruff and throaty.

"Best wake up soon, Bols, yer daft tart; I don't fancy walkin' into that church without yer... Dancin' with Raymondo just ain't the same." With soft lips, he pressed his mouth to the base of her ear, feeling his own warm breath as it hit her skin and bounced back at him. "Miss yer, Bolly," he murmured, before pulling away.

----

**Mage of the Heart**


	11. The Common Sense of a Grain Weevil

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**Huge thanks to all of the reviews so far :-) **

**Glad you're still enjoying it! Hope the chapters alright...**

**Sorry about the angst.**

**---**

Alex wasn't surprised to find herself there; she'd known since coming back that it was bound to happen sooner or later, that she'd make to leave from work and find herself heading familiarly across the street to the now all too familiar restaurant...

Only it wasn't a restaurant anymore, and she hadn't left work to visit it. She'd been waiting for three weeks for this very moment, and Evan had finally consented to drop her off on his way to work, on the strict understanding that if anything were to happen – even if she were to feel so little as a twinge in her skull – she would ring him immediately and consent to be taken to the hospital without debate. Having given him her most sincere vow, and promising numerous times that she wouldn't stray too far from familiar territory, Evan had dropped her off at the end of the road, with only a single warning that he had already told Malcowitz and the others not to let her work, and to ring him if she so much as stepped into the office.

She half smiled to herself, wryly glancing back at the modern building with a sigh; it wasn't the 'work' she was used to anymore, so he really had nothing to worry about – although that wasn't for him to know. There was certainly no danger that she'd run in and demand to be put on a case – she'd likely forget herself in the heat of the moment and, in the absence of more intimidating colleagues such as Ray, probably revert uncharacteristically to the old-fashioned, somewhat more violent policing style, before getting done for GBH and being claimed unfit for work, anyway.

With a sigh, she stepped into the road, crossing swiftly, ignoring the fact that the name across the door was not 'Luigi's', but instead 'Allie's Cafe', before descending the familiar stairs into the basement-styled restaurant.

---

She emerged in a room filled with scrubbed tables, checked table cloths, and a small serving counter, at which stood a rounded man with black hair, who wore a small apron over his considerable girth as he tapped his chubby fingers on the wood. Alex approached the counter nervously, glancing towards the wooden door just at the back of the restaurant and feeling her stomach twist and throat constrict at the realisation that, above this very cafe, her old flat would still exist... Heart in her chest, she ordered a coffee and a chocolate cookie, her eyes darting habitually towards the door and feeling an inexplicable pull, wanting nothing more than to race up the stairs and burst into the small living space which had once been her home, just for the rock solid confirmation that it had not in fact all been a dream.

"Here you are, love," the man said, interrupting her thoughts by handing her two pounds of change and a plastic tray, on top of which rested her drink and biscuit. "Watch the coffee – it's a bit hot!"

With a smile, Alex nodded her thanks, heading over to the corner table without really thinking, and instantly feeling a horrible wave of mixed loss and longing. Blinking back tears, she took a large gulp of her drink, hoping to disguise her tears as a reaction to the scalding liquid; it worked enough that the man at the counter did not question it, but the tears continued to stream down her cheeks for several more minutes than was necessary before she had managed to tidy herself up.

She drank the coffee slowly, half-heartedly picking chocolate chips from the cookie and allowing them to melt in her mouth as the sound of Italian music seemed to break through the ether, rising above the modern Sugababes song belting from the radio and lulling her into a familiar state of relaxation as the decor seemed to change before her eyes; the salt and pepper shakers littering the tables seemed to change into flowers and candlesticks, and the man at the counter seemed to become shorter, more like Luigi, and then the empty room filled with familiar voices of people who had come to be so important to her, raucous laughter cutting through and warming her heart... And Gene's face swam before her eyes, and an ache rose in her chest at the memory of his familiarly wry smile, his glinting blue eyes and a number of memorable flirtatious glances down her blouse as he sat directly across from where she was now...

She blinked further tears away, swiping at them with the back of her hand and throwing the cooling coffee down her throat in a bid for distraction. The man at the counter caught her eye as he moved towards the familiar door at the back of the room, pushing it open and moving quickly and purposefully into the hall, as though he'd heard something that Alex hadn't. The door stayed ajar, and Alex stared at it almost wistfully for several seconds, remembering more than one occasion on which she had left through that very door with Gene at her heel, the familiarity of it causing her eyes to blur over with tears before she took a deep breath of air to steady herself.

A moment later, there was a swish of black fabric around the door, a flash of grey-blonde hair, a haze of smoke, and a gruff voice which berated the order to stub out the offending cigarette with a string of angered obscenities.

She was out of her seat barely a second later, pushing through the door and following the tall, black-coated figure into the street with her heart in her chest.

---

She couldn't believe it was him; for a few moments, she convinced herself that it was her imagination, that the bullet that had penetrated her skull almost two months ago was causing her to hallucinate, that she should call Evan immediately and demand that he take her to the hospital... But then he'd finished his cigarette, dropping it on the floor and grinding it out with a familiarly styled pair of boots, before rounding the corner and stepping towards an old, battered car that would once have been his pride and joy; the red paint was dull, the registration paint spattered with mud, and the four black rings that decorated the side were chipped and incomplete. He clambered in with the look of a man fighting the irreversible aging effects of time, his long limbs seeming to bend tentatively as he slid into the driver's seat and inserted the key in the ignition.

Stood at a distance, Alex watched as he turned once, twice, three times.... the engine sputtered, died once, and then sputtered once again as his long-fingered hand patted the dashboard encouragingly. Finally, it started up, chugging unhealthily as his familiar, yet more aged face split into a small smile and his lips mouthed silent words that fell upon her ears with more noise than a whole orchestra; "you beauty!" He said it to himself, but she could practically hear the same words echoing back through the years, could feel the grin tugging at her lips as she imagined the whooping of Ray and Chris, the jovial teasing and joking as they sped down familiar side roads and back alleys... She blinked in time enough to see him rest his arm along the back of the passenger seat – her seat, she thought with a pang – and reversed, the engine loud and clattering as he pulled away.

It took her only a few moments of wistful longing before she flagged down a nearby taxi, ignoring the drivers' protests that he was on lunch as she threw fifty pounds onto the front seat and demanded that he drive her as fast as possible.

"Just follow that car!" She said, eyeing the retreating vehicle with worry creasing her eyebrows. "Don't lose sight of it!"

"Which car?" The driver said angrily, spitting gum out of the window in annoyance and missing her frantic pointing.

"That one!" She shrieked, pointing again and shaking her hand for emphasis. "The red one!"

"That BMW, y'mean?" He asked, pointed at a bright, gleaming Z4 parked at the side of the road.

"No!" Alex snapped, slamming her hand on the back of the seat. "That Audi!"

"''ey?" The driver looked blank, and Alex hissed her annoyance.

"That red, sputtering, foggy, _old_ one!" she snapped, jabbing her finger in it's direction.

The driver frowned, then nodded, stepping on the pedal and pulling out before speaking; "That ain't red, love... maybe it was once, but it looks more like a giant stinking turd now!"

----

She froze in her seat as the driver pulled up outside the hospital, watching in surprise and horror as Gene climbed out of the Quattro and walked towards the door with a slight spring in his step, for the entire world looking like a man who knew exactly where he was headed, as if he had done it many times before.

Alex was out of the car a moment later, thoughts failing her as she followed him with a churning stomach and a whirring brain, wondering if he would see her, if he'd remember her... The colours of the cars parked nearby seemed dull and lifeless in her peripheral vision as she walked, her pace quick, her eyes focused solely on the familiar hulking figure, the worn jacket and the now greying hair... She longed for him to turn around, to recognise her and take her in his arms and tell her it had all been real, that it would all be ok... but then he turned right, quelling the small chance that he might see her in the glass door of the corridor as he followed a sterile white corridor down, nodding to a nurse in passing and moving on deliberately, before he turned easily into one room and closed the door behind him.

Alex stopped in her tracks as the door closed in his wake, her heart hammering loudly in her ears as she glanced edgily around her, making sure that the nurse they had passed was well out of sight before daring to edge closer, to peer through the small glass window; her mouth dried up instantly at the sight.

Gene had shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the nearby chair without care before drawing it to the side of the bed, sinking into the cushion almost gratefully. His head was turned slightly away, but she was certain she saw the slight twitch of his lips as he settled himself more comfortably.

Alex's attention, however, was drawn away from his face, to the familiar form of his body, tears stinging at her eyes as she saw the unmistakeable signs of malnutrition, his clothes hanging from him as though they were two sizes too large. There were large bags under his eyes, she noticed, bruised almost purple, as though they had become a permanent aspect of his visage in the years that had passed since she had last seen him. His cheeks were sallow, his skin pale, and though his hair was still thick, it looked somehow lank, as though it's presence on his scalp had gone unnoticed for a long period of time. His long-fingered hands looked bonier than she remembered – still elegant, still beautiful, but nevertheless more withered – as they reached out for the hand of the person before him, closing softly around the other as he edged closer...

Lifting her eyes, Alex looked at the lady in the bed, and, for a small moment, she felt a slight wave of jealousy, because, glancing between this unknown lady and Gene, there was no mistaking the adoration or devotion that shone in his gaze. His thumb stroked across the woman's wrist, looking soothing and tentative, and Alex bit her lip slightly, before lifting her gaze to the sleeping woman's face.

There was something familiar about her, she thought, but she couldn't quite place it. There was a shock of grey hair upon the scalp, fanning out around her head, but looking lifeless and uncared for as it did so – not unclean, she thought, but simply deemed unimportant. The cheekbones were high, accentuating the fact that there was not enough skin on her cheeks as it stretched taut across her face. The eyebrows were arched, the lips full, but the face was wrinkled with age that seemed unbefitting, although it was impossible to tell how old the woman was supposed to be.

Gene's hands enclosed the smaller one between both of his, his lips moving silently as he stared at the sleeping face; it took only a moment before it hit her suddenly, and with it came a warmth which enclosed the fingers of her left hand, causing her spine to tingle with unexplained anticipation.

She fell away from the door in shock, covering her mouth with her hand as she attempted to regulate her breathing, tears spilling from her eyes in both horror and grief as she fell back against the opposite wall, unable to hear Gene's voice, but feeling a small sensation of tickling up her right forearm, as though someone were tracing their finger delicately and tenderly over her skin. She looked down at it, half expecting to see his hand covering hers, but there was nothing; with a heavy, ragged breath, she peered through the window once again, in time to see Gene's mouth moving slowly, softly, and not enough that she could read any of his words by sight. With a wrench in her chest, she watched as he sat there, talking quietly, almost seamlessly, more than she could ever remember him doing in the past... And she found, in some strange, inexplicable way, that she enjoyed it.

The time seemed to pass easily, though for how long she stood there Alex didn't know; every now and then a nurse would pass by, eyeing her with curiosity, but resolutely saying nothing. Alex herself did nothing but watch and think, her heart and mind whirring and pounding at a pace that she was unaccustomed to as the weight of meaning pressed down upon her shoulders.

First, there was the rock-solid confirmation that it had all happened, that she had lived in the eighties and met Gene Hunt in real life, that everything that she had thought to be a dream had been real, that the people she had met, the emotions she had felt and the words she had said had all been realities... She had seen the file, had read that he was alive and had retired after ten years of bitter, lonely policing without his DI, but somehow this was worse; the sight of him, old, worn and completely ridden with guilt, was worse than any file. Seeing him ripped from his former brilliance and reduced to this wreck of a man caused her physical, unspeakable pain.

Second was the shame; the horror at her new appearance dawned rapidly at her sadness at his, disgust clawing at the pit of her stomach like a crazed animal. The Alex from the eighties had been attractive- she'd known it, and she'd felt it; she'd been vibrant, colourful, stylish, sexy... Whatever memories she had had of that time were filled with self-appreciation, whether or not she had wanted to admit it to herself or not. The Alex whose hand Gene now held was ugly, old, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to the woman she could believe he might possibly be attracted to...

And then third there came the heart-stopping, tear-jerking realisation that whatever confusion and uncertainty there had been between herself and her DCI, there was more than just friendship in his intentions; it was odd, what sitting on the other side of a door could do for your perception, she considered – because when she'd been looking straight into Gene's sparkling blue eyes, she'd never noticed the warmth, the devotion, the painful, heart breaking look that said he needed her... And now, sat on the wrong side of the door, with no way of returning the sentiment, it all seemed so clear and obvious that she wondered at her own stupidity; not for the first time since waking up, she thought she felt her heart break.

---

She didn't know how long she stood there, tears streaming endlessly and silently down her face; all she knew was that one moment she was stood in the corridor, watching Gene press his lips softly and uncharacteristically to the other Alex's forehead, and the next moment she was frozen in place as she watched him standing up, his coat slung back around his shoulders as he headed towards the door.

The moment the door opened, she leapt away, instantly hiding her face and cursing herself as she sniffed against her tears. Though her eyes were averted, she saw him stop, saw the familiar, though now considerably more lined face crease into concern as he stepped towards her.

"Y'alright love?" He asked, and though his voice was more aged and worn, laden with tar and the unmistakeable throatiness of chain-smoking, Alex's heart ached with bitter longing at the familiar gruffness, the unchanged accent - even after twenty-six years living and working in London, he remained the Manc lion, through and through.

Without thinking, she lifted her head towards him, meeting his familiar blue eyes with a lurch in her chest, her mouth dry and her tongue peeking out to wet her lips as she did so.

They'd lost their glimmer, she noticed instantly, a wave of sadness rolling over her. Where once there had been humour and teasing in the blue depths, he seemed constricted by guilt and sadness, and the once sparkling blue eyes seemed dull and lifeless... And yet, despite herself, she still felt comforted by the gorgeous blue irises and the layers of meaning that they concealed.

"I'm- I'm fine," she fumbled weakly, swiping at her eyes and hoping against hope that her mascara hadn't run enough to be noticeable.

Gene went to nod, as though about to leave, but a second later his forehead had crinkled, his eyes narrowing as they scanned repeatedly over her face and hair. "Do I-?"

Before she could stop herself - before she could consider that there was no logic to her actions, no explanation that he could possibly accept - she threw herself forward, her arms around his neck as she clung hopelessly to him, feeling his older, now slightly more fragile form, and yet taking huge comfort in the smell of spice and soap that drifted into her nostrils, in the warmth of his body and the rough fabric of his coat beneath her fingers. "I'm so happy to see you," she whispered, tears tracking onto his coat as she attempted to ingrain every aspect of him into her memory before he disappeared.

Gene seemed frozen to the spot for several seconds, and she could imagine the look of bewildered disbelief that would plague his lips as he glanced around nervously for a distraction, as his hands cupped her arms and drew her away gently. Looking up, Alex saw that his eyebrows had knitted together, and his face was full of both confusion and sadness. "Sorry, love," he murmured, still eyeing her features with scrutiny, "think you've got the wrong bloke..."

Alex bit her lip, fresh tears brimming and lip trembling as she nodded jerkily in response, trying to displace the renewed feeling of loss and separation at the knowledge that he couldn't recognise her, didn't know her any better than he would know a stranger in the street. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly, wiping at her eyes and pulling away with an effort. "You look like someone I-"

"Yeah," Gene murmured, nodding slowly, eyes never pausing in their assessment of her features. "You too, love..."

At that moment, a nurse rounded the corner, and Alex found an excuse to turn her eyes away from his familiar searching gaze, catching the young lady by the arm as she started to speak, whilst attempting to keep her voice calm and disguise the hysteria threatening to rise up in her throat. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she said quickly, "I was here the other week, and I just wondered if you'd found-?"

"A wallet was it?" The nurse asked, glancing over Alex's face briefly before smiling warmly. "Of course, it's behind the desk – why don't you come with me?" She indicated down the corridor with her hand, and Gene seemed to embrace the opportunity to leave with open arms, walking down the corridor with large strides, although Alex thought she saw him glancing back surreptitiously at her in her peripheral vision. The nurse's voice interrupted the consideration, and Alex turned her attention back straight away. "It's Miss Drake, isn't it?"

With a gulp, Alex nodded, following the nurse and biting her lip once again as she felt Gene's eyes snap back immediately to look at her, boring into her skull as though they were attempting to burn a hole through the bone and see right into her mind...

"Yes," Alex murmured weakly, still nodding. She kept walking, until she drew level with Gene and realised that he had frozen in the corridor, his gaze still fixated upon her face as though he were stuck in his place. With trembling hands clenched together, Alex looked up to meet his eyes, seeing the confusion and pain that riddled his eyes as he seemed to peer into her very being in a way that she felt no other man ever would, or could.

"Bolly?" Gene whispered, taking a small step forward, his voice cracked and hurt. His hand was slightly raised, as though intending to take hold of hers, and he took a second step forwards as he spoke again. "Is that-?"

"It's Molly," Alex fumbled as quickly as she could, trying to control the exhilaration and adrenaline that pounded through her veins as she reached towards him, extending her hand. "I'm- I'm Molly..."

Gene eyed her carefully, his gaze mistrusting, the hand that had been reaching out to her freezing in mid-air. His eyes dropped to her hand briefly, as though attempting to work out whether it was a danger or not, before reaching out to shake it with hesitance as his gaze returned to her face.

Silently, Alex treasured the touch of his skin against hers, feeling warm tingles shiver through her whole body, struggling to disguise them as she squeezed against his warm, wrinkled hand with a tenderness that seemed to surprise him. His eyes never left her face, and for a few moments, he seemed lost in his own thoughts, before suddenly he spoke, breaking through Alex's reverie as he did so.

"You're her daughter?" He asked, his voice dry and disbelieving. Alex nodded after barely a moments thought; though it hurt her not to tell him the truth as his eyes seemed to beg for some sort of confirmation, she knew that he would be no more able to comprehend the truth now than he would have done then, even with the confusion of her familiar face... He seemed to fumble slightly as he went on, his words tripping slowly from his lips as he attempted to get his mouth around them, his eyes sad as he spoke. "She- I mean, you look like her..."

Alex contained a smile and nodded, shrugging her shoulders in admittance and subconsciously hoping that he was referring to the younger 'her', as opposed to the decrepit one in the room down the corridor... "Well," Alex said, laughing slightly to herself, "well, yes I suppose I do..."

Gene replied slowly, his words deliberate, yet he still seemed to fumble upon them. "Do you-?" he frowned, then said, "I mean- how often do you come here?" His voice was quiet, hard, confused, and Alex had to think quickly before she answered, her eyes slightly averted as she twiddled her fingers together.

"I- I've never been here before..." she said slowly. "I mean- except last week. I mean-" she trailed off, conscious of the way the nurse was eyeing her with intense scrutiny, and wondering how best to divert the conversation. Thankfully, Gene didn't seem overly intent on pursuing the subject, and instead he ran a long-fingered hand through the grey-blonde hair that littered his temple.

"I didn't- I never knew you knew... I mean, I hoped yer knew, but- I never saw yer..."

"I-" Alex hesitated, wondering how wide a yarn she could spin when the nurse was watching so beadily. Luck, however, seemed to be shining down upon her, and she found herself breathing a sigh of relief a second later as the woman received a beep on her pager and scurried off to some other corner of the hospital to attend to something. "I didn't know," Alex went on, looking back at Gene. "I mean, not until very recently... I just assumed that we'd- lost contact..."

Gene nodded, his face sad and sour looking as he pursed his lips in thought. "So, you never heard from 'er then?"

Alex bit her lip, glancing down the corridor once, and then shrugging. "A few times," she said, settling for a half-truth. "She always tried but- well, she didn't always get through..." She gulped, watching as Gene's face seemed to crumble with guilt, and she felt her stomach twist at the sight, realising all too late that it would have been easier for him to accept the falsehood as truth, than to have his accusations thrown back in his face.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his fingers clenching slightly, as they always did when he was in need of a cigarette and in the wrong situation to have one; she felt a bitter wave of nostalgia at the thought, digging her nails into her palm to bite back tears...

She said nothing, unable to find the words through the shock of tears until a moment later, when he'd scuffed his foot numerous times on the floor, as though attempting to say something, before he moved to leave. Desperate, Alex piped up, her voice slightly higher than usual as she did so.

"She always spoke about you," she said, biting down on her lip before continuing, wondering if it could really count as a lie when he'd been all she could think about in recent weeks... She went on softly, choosing her words with care. "I mean, when she did call," she murmured, "she spoke about you a lot..." She met his searching blue eyes with her hazel, wondering whether he could see the sincerity that burned through her irises, the meaning, the ploy for understanding she couldn't seem to restrain... Gene seemed to wait for what felt like an age, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze completely unwavering; she wondered if he could really see her anymore, or if he was seeing someone else, a different her...

"Well," he said finally, his voice throaty and gruff as he averted his eyes, "don't believe everythin' you hear... sometimes I can be a very nice man." There was a note of playfulness in his voice, but the teasing didn't meet his eyes, and her heart ached bitterly as his forced smile fell away into nothingness, replaced by a pained look that struck her like a physical blow.

"She always said that," she assured him softly, attempting to keep the emotion from her voice as she went on. "I- she always thought you were a big softie underneath it all..." She trailed off, waiting for his reaction and wondering if he caught the lilting tease in her words. She smiled as his eyebrows flew up into his hairline, forehead creasing with disbelieving amusement.

"Wouldn't go that far, love," he smiled sadly, gulping hard as he added. "I might've 'ad a soft spot every now an' then, but I wasn't a Nancy..." There was a brief silence, in which Alex swore she could see Gene's brain working, the cogs turning and grinding repeatedly as he seemed to mull over Alex's most recent words.

"She was fond of you," she said, though she knew not why; it was as though they came from someone else, some other part of her that needed him to know how much he meant, despite the pain it could undoubtedly cause to them both... Her voice was barely above a whisper as she stepped forwards, contemplating touching her hand to his arm for a few moments before deciding against it, instead gripping her fingers together as she finished. "More than fond, actually..."

He didn't seem to notice, his face hard and impenetrable as he seemed to fight to throw up the walls he had always thought to be so safe behind. "I'm sure of it," Alex added softly, scared to lose him quite so suddenly as her voice threatened to crack in her throat. He half-smiled at that, raising a sardonic eyebrow in her direction as though laughing at the suggestion.

"You a Psychiatrist an' all?" He teased, though once again the smile failed to make his blue eyes sparkle – her heart sank slightly, but she couldn't help the small twitch at her lip as she answered him softly, more out of habit than anything else.

"It's Psychologist, actually," she murmured, meeting his eyes. "And yes, I am..."

He nodded, rolling his eyes at what he evidently presumed to be some sort of bad joke which was loaded with irony. "Course you are," he murmured, lip twitching slightly. His voice faded into silence and seemed to echo down the corridor for several minutes as he frowned thoughtfully, grinding his jaw and biting his lip in palpable indecision; Alex wanted to talk to him, to ask him more questions, but she knew him better, knew that if she interrupted, he would never say whatever it was... Unexpectedly, he reached swiftly into his breast pocket, drawing out an old leather wallet.

"You should 'ave this," he murmured, holding it out in front of him with burning sincerity in his gaze as he met her hazel eyes with his. She frowned, glancing down at it with confusion for several moments before realisation hit her in the stomach. "It-" he hesitated, then went on, waving the warrant card half-heartedly in her direction as his Adam's apple rose and fell in time with his gulp; "you should 'ave it," he repeated.

"You-?" she gasped in disbelief, wetting her lips with her tongue as her throat ran dry and her eyes began to water. "You kept it?" She could feel her hands start to tremble, see the nervous gulp and aversion of the eyes as Gene shrugged awkwardly, before she shook her head again. "But- but why? I mean-!" She stopped, frowning as she glanced back up at his face. "How? Shouldn't you have-?"

"Well yeah," he muttered, scuffing his foot subconsciously on the floor and half-grinning to himself. "I probably shouldn' 'ave kept it near thirty years, but- well..." he trailed off, the smile fading as he gulped, before he gritted his jaw and glanced away once again.

The next question tumbled out of her mouth before Alex could stop herself, before she could even pause to think about what she was doing; the words hung in the air like a noose, dangling loosely before her eyes, just out of reach, and yet taunting her with the danger that they entailed as they slid out of her mouth against her will.

"Did you love her?"

She expected to see his head snap up, to see his eyes widen in surprise and his head shake in amused negation... Instead he sighed, running his spare hand through his hair whilst the other closed more firmly around the card in his hand, before shaking his head with a sadness that was so prominent it was painful.

"No love," he said softly, his voice full of honesty and integrity, and tinged with pain and regret. "I didn't..." he gulped again, his jaw tight as he murmured, "I never got the chance." He stepped unexpectedly closer then, his movement swift as he pulled one of her hands into his frail, older ones, with a tenderness that made her eyes sting with tears.

His skin was warm against hers, and comforting to the touch, and it took her several moments to realize his intentions, even after he'd firmly pressed the leather warrant card into her still shaking fingers.

"Look after it, 'ey?" He said, his voice gruff. "She's a dippy tart, but she'd 'ave me bollucks on a hook if she woke up an' thought I'd lost the damn thing," he squeezed her hand gently, as though about to pull away, but Alex's other hand flew out of nowhere to catch his wrist, closing firmly around it as she did so, holding it where it was.

"Keep it," she implored softly, her eyes fixing on his with unabashed certainty. "I'll only lose it..." she hesitated, watching his eyebrows crinkle, treasuring the warmth of his skin and feeling her jaw tremble as she watched his eyes fall uncomfortably to their still joined hands, his jaw gritting slightly; despite the sight of it, she couldn't bring herself to sever the contact too soon. "Head full of brains," she whispered, unable to resist, smiling slightly as she finished, "common sense of a grain weevil..."

Gene's eyes widened in recognition, his hand tightening slightly around her own at the same moment that sadness crept through his shields and shone out from his eyes. His mouth opened as though he were about to speak, his face falling into a mask of pain and loss that wrenched at Alex's chest and ripped at her stomach; she stopped him with a squeeze of her hand and a small, conspiratorial smile. He gulped, his jaw tense, the vein in his temple throbbing, as though he were attempting to restrain some comment or question.

"It was nice to see you," Alex started. " I mean, to meet you," she corrected herself quickly, shaking her head slightly at her foolishness and hoping he wouldn't notice her mistake. "It was nice to _meet _you, Gene..." She emphasised the word, watching as he nodded, feeling her heart pound slightly faster as he made to speak, then closed his mouth again as he decided against it; a moment later, he'd torn his hand from hers, the warrant card wrenched from her grasp as he turned sharply on his heel and headed down the corridor.

She watched as his dark coat billowed around in his wake, the loose belt-tie flapping behind him as he stalked away; it was only once he was well out of sight that she allowed the tears to slip from her eyes.

----

**Well... I didn't mean for it to be**_** that**_** evil... Although I'm not sure it isn't worse lol.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	12. A More Modern Woman

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**I can only apologise for the evilness of the last chapter – it came out of nowhere while I was writing, and then it sort of manifested and may have extended the story a bit... but this chapters back in the 80s, so for now, I hope you'll forgive me and read on!**

**---**

She looked beautiful; there was no denying it.

The dress flowed behind her, floating as she moved, her bright smile beaming, hair sleek and soft, slightly longer now and curled into gentle tendrils on either side of her face, her eyes bright with happiness, fixated firmly ahead of her, slender fingers wrapped gently around the bouquet of blossoming flowers in her hand. Roses of white and red were surrounded by lilies and carnations of varying colours, spilling out in a perfectly arranged manner. Her face was made up lightly, with soft foundation and blusher, a dusting of pale eye-shadow, and a dash of red lipstick that contrasted well with the white gown, complimenting the roses of her bouquet as she walked, as though on a cloud, towards the man waiting at the other end of the aisle.

His blonde hair was combed neatly over, a black tux accentuating his shoulders and offering a foreign impression of regale and sophistication that would otherwise have never graced his description. His hands were visibly shaking, but the smile on his face was full of brilliant happiness and pride, as though nothing could sully this perfect moment as his bride walked so elegantly towards him.

Gene could only watch as Shaz reached Chris' side, receiving a small kiss on the cheek from her father before stepping forward to take her husband-to-be by the hand, noticeably entwining her fingers with his and flashing him a smile so dazzling that for a moment Gene could understand why Chris was so besotted. He glanced at the woman beside him, whose arm was linked with his, her brown hair framing her face, her round cheeks forming dimples as she smiled happily at the wedding couple, her grip on his arm tightening only slightly as the priest began to speak, the familiar script of the ceremony falling on both pairs of ears with eerie recognition.

For Gene, there was only the dim feeling of regret and bitterness, but he knew as the tears slid from her eyes that, in her opinion, they held a sincerely different meaning, close to her heart and unashamedly bittersweet. His hand reached up to cover hers, his small attempt at a smile, which was meant to be reassuring and understanding, appearing shaken and nervous. She smiled back, her eyes watering as she swiped at her eyes with a tissue in embarrassment.

"Being silly," she whispered, smiling with a little more certainty now.

"Yer don't-"

"Shush!" She said, smiling almost mischievously as she nodded towards the happy couple. "They're starting the vows!"

----

"I, Christopher Andrew Skelton, take thee, Sharon Louise Granger, to be my wedded wife. Ter have and to hold from this day forward, fer better, fer worse, fer richer, fer poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part..."

Chris' voice was wracked with nerves, but there was not one trace of uncertainty in his tone, and though he trembled as he slid the ring onto Shaz's offered finger, there was no denying the absolution of his words, the honesty and genuine meaning they held to him. "And thereto, I give thee my cough."

"Troth!" The priest muttered, causing a murmur of amusement to carry through the church as Chris flushed red, hurrying to correct himself with his fingers still holding the ring in place on Shaz's finger, his worry evident as he glanced at her face; she was smiling, grinning so unashamedly and with such endearment, that if it had been anything other than a wedding, Gene might well have snorted in genuine derision and ordered that they stop behaving like a pair of nancy's. As it was, his lips twitched, his hand covering up his mouth as he feigned a cough, but he didn't miss the knowing glance that his companion sent his way.

"Troth!" Chris corrected himself, clearly tightening his grasp on Shaz's hand. "I give thee my troth!"

A glance at Ray, and Gene saw his own amusement reflected in the Best Man's gaze, certain also that he saw the added mumbling of "twonk" on the DS's mouth, before he turned back to Chris and Shaz.

"I, Sharon Louise Granger, take you, Christopher Andrew Skelton, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, and thereto, I give thee my troth..." The grin on Shaz's lips was unshakeable as she slipped the gold wedding band onto Chris' finger, instantly threading her own fingers back through his as they turned back towards the priest. Gene glanced to his side, seeing fresh tears tracking down his companion's cheek, instantly leaning to the side and murmuring softly in her ear.

"You alright, Annie, love?"

She smiled up at him, her familiar brown eyes glistening up at him in the warm light of the church as she nodded. "Fine Guv," she murmured, squeezing in assurance at his arm. "Just being silly... I'm fine... really."

Gene felt his eyebrows knit together, but decided to spare her the further questions as the priest's voice broke out above their conversation.

"You may kiss the bride!"

He turned in time to see a grinning Chris press a firm, yet still indisputably gentle kiss to Shaz's lips, his hands cradling either side of her face with tenderness as his mouth moved over hers. Gene saw Annie's mouth twitch up into a full-blown smile, and glancing down at her he saw the same happiness that he'd witnessed on her wedding day to Sam, and for a moment he could forget everything that had happened since then. As a round of applause broke out through the church, Gene half expected Sam to appear at his side, wrap his arms around Annie's waist and make a joking, teasing comment about Chris, the sort of which they had come to develop in the seven years they had worked together.

"Sam would've been very proud," Annie murmured, still smiling, as though reading his thoughts.

Gene nodded in agreement, "yeah, Annie," he answered. "'e would."

---

Gene hadn't met Mr and Mrs Granger before- he'd spoken to them once on the phone, but had never really gleaned anything about them from the brief conversation, except that they felt bereft whilst their daughter lay in hospital – he couldn't really have asked any other questions whilst keeping his dignity, and so he was unsure what to expect as he entered the Hotel where the wedding reception was being held; it soon transpired that Mr and Mrs Granger were either completely loaded, or now several thousand pounds in debt.

Over the top table was a large, rainbow shaped arch, which was covered completely with delicate flowers, entwined around one another with precision. Each table was home to another extravagant bouquet, placed in fine glass vases on top of silk table cloths. The chairs were of a rich mahogany, with plush red cushions lining the seat and back, and he could already see several of the older generation sinking gratefully into them. Waiters dressed in tuxedos and bow ties carried fine glasses full of champagne that, on tasting, Gene found to be Bollinger; for a brief moment, he simply held the glass to his lips, a lump in his throat as he inhaled the scent of it, feeling the bubbles fizz away in his mouth and race over the surface of his tongue...

It was only when Annie tugged on his arm that he looked up, catching Shaz's gaze and seeing the nervousness in her eyes, even as Chris grasped her hand and grinned like an oaf. She was voicing questions through the silence, and the lump in his throat instantaneously trebled in size as Gene realized that it wasn't mere coincidence. He managed a half smile- which he could only hope was gratuitous- before Shaz was rushed along by the crowd of well-wishers, and Gene was tugged to his seat by Annie's soft hand on his arm.

They sat down, Gene sinking into his chair with a wave of relief, downing the glass of champagne before motioning for another from a passing waiter. He could feel Annie's gaze on him, feel the assessing nature of her eyes, and he sighed, leaning forward on the table and withdrawing a cigarette from his jacket pocket as he did so.

"Y'know, Cartwright, some might think you're starin' 'cause you like what yer see?" He wanted it to sound teasing, light, but his own heart wasn't in it, and he saw the sorrowful smile she sent his way as she patted him lightly on the arm. He sighed; they'd become closer over the years, when Sam was there, usually passing around the drinks as the three of them –and occasionally Gene's ex wife, bitter and reluctant though she was- sat around the table. There'd been flirtation and joking, companionship and warmth, but since he'd left Manchester, he'd barely heard from Annie at all, except for a few heart rendering phone calls in the night when grief had stricken her hardest.

He should have felt happy, like he had part of his best friend back, but there was no denying that, although they were close in the past, it just wasn't the same without Sam.

"Chris told me about DI Drake," Annie said softly, reaching for her own glass and swirling it in her fingers. Gene rolled his eyes, taking a drag on his cigarette and sighing.

"Stupid twonk," he muttered, blowing smoke away from the table and avoiding her eyes. "I'm fine, love."

"Y'know, if Sam were 'ere, 'e'd tell you to stop moping about like a Nancy-boy, an' enjoy the party."

"He'd never call me a Nancy-boy," Gene grunted, taking another deep inhalation. "'e'd 'ave said it was un-politically correct or summat..."

"He'd 'ave called you it if 'e saw you looking like this!" Annie retorted teasingly. Gene bit back a smirk, catching Viv's eye as he took the seat opposite, his girlfriend instantly taking the seat beside him, smiling nervously across at Gene as though scared what he might do... A moment of recollection later, and Gene remembered that last time he'd met her, he'd made a lewd comment about the length of her dress, and he instantly flashed her an apologetic grin, seeing the tension relax from her shoulders as she settled more comfortably into the crook of Viv's arm.

Annie sighed, rolling her eyes and absently tracing her fingers around the delicate rim of her champagne glass, watching almost wistfully as Chris and Shaz settled into their seats at the main table, still caught up amidst laughter and cheer, even as the waiters appeared with the starters – vol-au-vents, stuffed with a combination of meat and savoury fillings.

Gene could barely suppress a grin as he glanced at Annie, who was smiling with similar amusement at the vague and distant memory of Ray's somewhat failed explanation of the pastry dish, back some nine years ago, in a white van outside a tennis court; clearly, Gene thought, Chris had expanded his horizons since then.

The starter passed by, and wine was drunk, and by the time the main course was served, the old crone on the next table was drunk and giddy, squeakily exclaiming her love of 'all things bright and wonderful', before downing another glass of wine and pealing with laughter. As the meal went by, and as he watched his companions laughing and smiling at one another, Gene couldn't help but glance at the happy couple, comparing their radiant smiles with his own distant memories of the rather less extravagant merriness of his own wedding.

As the clock ticked towards five, he remembered with a somewhat mischievous smirk that at this point on his own wedding day, he was pissed as a fart and singing the National Anthem at the top of his lungs, joined by his cousins and his best man, whilst his new wife had accepted all the gracious bestowments of well-wishes and congratulations. To his knowledge, Chris was practically sober; or at least, he hadn't had enough alcohol to be drunk. His smile, however, was that of a man drunk on such happiness that liquid substance made no impact; every now and then, his arm would snake around Shaz's shoulders, his lips against her ear, his eyes shining with affection and warmth as his hand rubbed gently at her arm. Once, as Gene watched them almost painfully from his chair, he was certain that his DC whispered those famous three words that had tied so many hearts together, and a moment later, Shaz was beaming back at him with glistening eyes, her face alive and full of spirit.

Gene sighed, downing the last half of his drink and pouring himself another one only seconds later. He felt bitterly miserable, his heart sinking as he witnessed, not for the first time, the magnitude of impact marriage _should _have on a couples lives... It hadn't even bothered him in the past, really, if he recalled correctly. He had been content with the idea of coming home to a certain woman every day, and her parents would have frowned down upon him unless he'd stuck a ring on her finger, so he'd done the decent thing and married her. It hadn't up-heaved his life, it hadn't caused any sudden wave of emotion and affection, and nor had it made him feel particularly lucky, until they got back to the hotel room and she'd put on some white negligee that had broken through the haze of alcohol... In hindsight, he supposed he hadn't shown her a completely bad time that day...

"So, are you going to tell me about her?" Annie asked, looking absently away from him and towards Ray, whose arm was thrown around the same girl that he had left the bar with on the night of Gene's failed attempted trice with Polly.

"Who?" Gene asked, lighting another cigarette and ignoring the disgust on the face of a woman walking by as he did so.

"Alex Drake?" Annie asked, smiling.

Gene looked away, smoking the cigarette halfway before he had the guts to glance back at her. "She's a bloody fruitcake," he surmised eventually. "Never does anythin' I say, runs about screamin' about ethics and bloody witness protection like she's got a gun rammed up her tight little arse, tells me on a regular basis me swimmers won't be good for nout if I keep smokin', an' she goes off on 'er own even when I expressly forbid 'er to keep the hell away." He took another deep drag, feeling himself shake with emotion as he spoke about her for the first time in what felt like forever. A moment later, he saw Annie's bemused grin, as though she too were making connections with another of Gene's DI's who had embodied all of the stated qualities.

"Sounds familiar," she teased. Gene grunted something incoherent, and then nodded.

"Yeah. She's like bloody Tyler, but with periods and PMS! You do the math, Cartwright; you lived with 'im fer six years!"

Annie smiled, speaking softly, "best six years of my life, Guv; I don't regret a day."

He gulped, glancing away from her saddened eyes and nodding his head curtly. "Yeah..." he murmured, "same 'ere, love."

She placed her hand lightly on his arm, feeling the tension in his body, and sighing with sympathetic understanding. "You miss her, don't you?"

"Thought we were talkin' 'bout Tyler?" Gene replied quickly... too quickly, he realized, the moment she raised her eyebrow at him. He sighed, sitting back in his chair and stubbing out his cigarette on the corner of his plate, lowering his voice so that only Annie could hear, the other occupants of their table rendered blindly incapable of participating in their conversation as he turned his body towards hers, his hands wringing each other in his lap as he spoke, voice hesitant, nervous, and unfavourably foreign to this newfound desire to express himself, to share his burden with someone.

He'd tried, with Marion, to find someone whom he could relate to, but somehow whenever she spoke, she did so with an underlying warning, and Gene could not bring himself, however hard he tried, to turn himself away from Alex, whatever condition she was in.

"Yeah, I miss 'er," he conceded, gulping hard. "Ain't like before though – with Sam, I mean... 'cause...'cause she ain't..."

"She hasn't died?" Annie asked softly, her voice slightly pained, full of sorrow. Gene clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head slowly.

"I shouldn' 'ave said anythin', Annie," he murmured, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyeballs and groaning in frustration. "Yer shouldn' 'ave ter listen ter me gettin' all-"

"You're right though, Guv," she murmured, pulling his hand down and resting it lightly in hers as his eyes flickered open. "Sam died- she hasn't. Don't give up on her, and then maybe... maybe she'll wake up..." She glanced at the waiter as they collected their plates, smiling graciously, without a trace of the shyness Gene had once taken her to have in bucket loads, before she looked back at him.

"I ain't givin' up on her, love," he murmured, rubbing his face lightly with the palm of his hand.

"Good," Annie said, smiling warmly before releasing his hand and turning to the Black Forest gateaux that had just been placed in front of her. She toyed idly with her dessert fork for several moments, and then grinned again, glancing at his confused expression with a small tinkle of laughter before she spoke. "You know, Sam always used to say that you should've married a more modern woman..." she laughed at Gene's corresponding raise of the eyebrow, carrying on with a smile. "I guess he was right- they both sound pretty modern when you think about it."

She was tucking into her dessert by the time Gene had really managed to process her words, and he glanced at her briefly, before settling back in his chair, ignoring the dessert as he pondered her statement. He supposed Sam would have picked up on the fact his marriage became a sham, but he'd never really considered that his DI would have voiced his opinions to Annie... "He said that?" He asked, voice disbelieving.

Annie nodded, swallowing down her food with a smile. "He used to say you could do with being- what was it? Oh- 'converted to metro-sexuality, by a twenty-first century feminist!'" She laughed at her own attempted imitation, and Gene found himself smirking, shaking his head.

"What the bloody hell is 'metro-sexuality' when it's at 'ome? I ain't a bloody nancy!" Gene's tone was laced with distaste, and Annie laughed.

"He always used to say it was just 'a straight bloke who cared what he looked like'."

"So, a poof, then?" Gene supplied, rolling his eyes.

"No, he made a point that they had to be straight," her voice was laughing and Gene shook his head.

"Poof in denial," he retorted, "always knew he liked a bit of-" He caught the look of incredulous surprise on Annie's face, and had the decency to shrug it off with a smirk. "Sorry, love."

He reached for his drink, muttering silently under his breath as he did so. "But it doesn't make him any less of a poof." As he drank, he ignored the strange, whirring feeling in the pit of his stomach, attempting to deny the similarities between Sam's prediction and the Alex he had come to adore, which struck a chord so strongly in his chest that he felt a slight twinge as its shocks reverberated through him. He pushed away the slight nag at Annie's reference to the twenty-first century, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind – Alex's voice, he realized- that was trying to speak out above the echoing din of the room. _I'm from the future..._

He glanced into the bottom of his glass and blinked, surprised to find that there was still some wine in it. He must be pissed as a fart to be thinking like this, but as he looked again at Annie, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was going mental... His thoughts trailed off into their own reverie, broken only when Annie nudged him in the arm and pointed towards the top table.

"Speeches!" She said, settling herself more comfortably in her chair and looking expectantly up at Shaz's father. Gene blinked, clearing his throat and leaning forward on his arms as the speeches began.

---

Mr Granger seemed to be trying to put off the inevitable eventual break-up of the wedding celebrations by dragging his speech on for what felt like forever, detailing – sometimes with more information than was strictly necessary – every aspect of Shaz's childhood, adolescence and adulthood to date. Gene had managed to smoke his way through half of a packet of Marlboro, and drunk a whole bottle of champagne by himself, before the older man walked around to his daughter to press a gentle kiss on her cheek, tears streaming down his face as he braced her head against his chest.

Gene might have admitted to thinking Shaz was a little embarrassed by the whole thing, but since most of the women at his table, including Annie, were all swiping at their eyes by the end of it all, he wasn't sure whether or not the shove in her father's chest was in order to hide her own emotion, or because she really was sick of the mollycoddling that, for all intents and purposes, it would appear her parents had bestowed upon her since birth.

Ray's speech, meanwhile, had the whole room in fits of laughter, and was over and done in five minutes – the general consensus, it would seem, was that it hadn't been long enough, but as Ray offered his congratulations to them both in his own roundabout way - "don't be a twonk, 'ey Chris?" – it appeared that he had said everything that was necessary to lighten the mood, and when Chris stood up, it was evident that he was more than a little unnerved by the idea of following up Ray's hilarity and Mr Granger's heartfelt warmth.

He shifted nervously from one foot to another, gulping, nodding, showing, in every respect, the same characteristics he often demonstrated when surrounded by young girls, back in his youth. Gene couldn't really blame him; every eye was turned expectantly towards his DC, and the fact he was the groom and therefore expected to make a stunning and emotional speech was probably making the poor bloke crap himself with nerves.

A chuckle resounded through the room as Chris drew out a series of bright yellow cards from his pockets, removing the elastic band around them and clearing his throat before reading the first one, his hand reaching for Shaz's as he began, his words painfully honest and open, without dallying or hesitation – as he spoke, Gene heard Annie sniffling at his side, and a moment later, he'd taken her hand lightly in his own, squeezing reassuringly at her as his eyes remained fixed on Chris.

----

"Never thought I'd get married really... Always thought if I did, I'd end up doing summat stupid, an' getting sent to prison like that copper in that film 'oo murdered 'is wife... But that was before I met you, Shaz."

A female concordance of 'awwww' seemed to dominate the room, whilst, as far as Gene could tell, every man within hearing distance cringed and groaned with obvious embarrassment and shook their head in silent disbelief. Ray, in particular, he noted, was closing his eyes in hopeless despair and shaking his head from side to side with exaggerated deliverance.

"I once got told that yer 'ave to be yerself to get a woman to like you – 'ave to treat 'er like she's a person, not just an object... An' I never really understood, 'cause I'd never met anyone I liked that much... But I like you, Shazzer." Chris' unashamed admission caused Gene to cover his mouth with his hand, hiding the smirk of amusement from view in the same way as every other man in the room. Viv, sat across from Gene, was chuckling to himself, whilst Ray was unashamedly throwing back a whiskey in evident desperation, motioning to a nearby waiter to refill his glass with the bottle in his hand. Gene snorted, briefly catching sight of Annie's slightly saddened face before he fell silent again, glancing back at Chris, and only then realizing whose words the DC must be quoting – no other bloke had ever spoken like that.

"Annie, I'm-" He meant to apologize, turning back towards her and cringing at his own lack of empathy, but she was already shaking her head, waving him off as her gaze remained riveted on the happy couple, Chris' smile slightly more confident as Shaz positively beamed back at him.

"The boss was always good wi' stuff like that – relationships, like... An' 'e ain't 'ere now, but if 'e was, Shaz, I'd tell 'im it was down to 'im- 'cause it is." Gene sat up slightly straighter, the lump in his throat suddenly becoming a block of concrete that plummeted all the way down to his stomach, making his recently devoured lunch slosh around in its pit as he attempted to wet his mouth. Annie was crying silently at his side, and he could only squeeze her hand, his own feelings too overwhelming to allow him to think of much else, since even Ray's face had solemnity etched into every line, the set of his mouth straight and full of respect. Gene saw Shaz place her hand lightly on Chris' waist as he went on, her smile now slightly watery.

"I'd never 'ave gotten up the guts to talk to yer – properly, like- if 'e 'adn't said all that, an' I dunno what I'd be doin' if I never 'ad..." Chris gulped, and the whole of the rooms occupants could see his Adam's apple rise and fall before he spoke again, his voice slightly softer, edged with that little bit more tenderness... "I erm, I never thought I'd be this lucky, an' I still can' believe yer said yes... But I love you, Shazzer, an' I won't mess it up this time." For a moment, Gene thought he saw an apologetic, imploring look passing between the couple, but that was not nearly quite so prominent as the looks passing between relatives and friends around the room, who were evidently not in the loop on recent events. He was surprised when Chris turned his head to look at him, gulping nervously, a question in his eyes, and Gene's head was nodding without prior thought as he encouraged him to go on, without him hesitating for a second. The smile on Chris' face was full of gratitude as he moved closer to Shaz, his arm around her shoulders as he glanced at his card, gulping slightly.

"I thought I lost yer once... well... twice, now," Chris corrected himself, hesitating slightly, casting another look at Gene who, this time, could only frown, confusion evident on his face as Chris went on. "I dunno what'd 'ave 'appened if you'd died that night – but I know the only reason yer didn't was 'cause of Ale- I mean, DI Drake." He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on his paper, face wrought with concentration, and Gene felt himself stiffen, Annie's hand squeezing back at his own straight away as he found himself unable to tear away his eyes, or to leave the room, or do anything but try not to hyperventilate in the large, suddenly crowded, claustrophobic room... "I know you call 'er yer Angel, an' she's mine an' all, fer savin' yer for me... an'- an' I know everyone wants 'er ter get better soon... so- so before I say anythin' else, I just wanna say summat for her, if yer'd all-" he motioned with his hands for people to stand, and Gene could barely breathe, his legs trembling and lungs aching as he pushed himself up to his feet amidst the crowd of confused wedding guests, his vision blurred, nothing sinking in at all but the fact that someone had pushed a fresh glass of Bollinger into his hand, and that Chris' voice was suddenly stronger, louder, more prominent than it had ever been...

"To DI Drake!" Chris said loudly.

"To DI Drake!" Came the reply, full of warmth and genuine emotion that caused Gene's head to ache. He stared into the bubbling liquid in his glass, seeing his drawn, white face reflected in the surface as the crowd lifted their glasses, drinking deeply. It took him several moments to collect himself, and when he had done so, he glanced towards Chris and Shaz, who were stood, arms around each other, the perfect picture of loves young dream, both of them looking at him with concern and nervousness written on their faces. He nodded, faintly aware of Annie's hand on his shoulder as he lifted his own glass in toast towards them, swallowing hard and attempting to wet his lips with his tongue before murmuring, his heart pounding recklessly in his chest as he did so, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper to anyone else, but that was completely, overwhelmingly loud to his own ears as the words wrapped around him - "to Bolly."

The glass was at his lips, and the liquid was tipping down his throat, rolling over his tongue and fizzing in his mouth as his eyes remained fixed on his two junior officers, swallowing almost reluctantly, as though releasing the moment would bring it all back once again... He glanced at Ray, whose face was etched with the utmost respect and solemnity as the last few toasters drained their glasses, then at Viv, who managed a small, nervous smile which ought to have instilled confidence.

He met Annie's eyes, saw complete understanding, bitter sympathy and sadness, and he could barely think straight as he found himself unable to speak, simply downing the rest of his drink and walking from the room, certain that a hundred pairs of eyes followed him, but knowing that the two pairs that mattered most on this day understood – he didn't think about the others.

----

**Mm... Yeah... I shall just like, allow you all to throw tomatoes at me... dum-dee-dum...**

**Mage of the Heart**


	13. The Lonely Crowd

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**Nor do I own the lyrics featured (Rod Stewart- You're In My Heart)**

**This is the last pre-written chapter (GAHH!) but since I've just finished TAoL, updates shouldn't be too far apart – at least I hope not.**

**Hope it's alright :-)**

**---**

Alex's room was warm and airy when he arrived, and the moment he was there he collapsed into the chair, bitter resentment for his complete reliability upon her rising up within his chest, right alongside inevitable relief at the very sight of her. He placed the two items that he had brought with him on the floor, shrugging off his jacket and lying it over his chair before his hand found hers on top of the blanket, his heart hammering in his chest, throat dry and fingers trembling. His body was hunched as he leant forwards on his knees, eyes on her peacefully slumbering face, unable to comprehend why even when so many people wanted her to return, she remained so distantly far away.

He wanted to talk to her, to tell her about the wedding, the speech, the toast... He wanted to, but somehow the ability to speak evaded him, his tongue immoveable in his throat as he sat there. Without thinking, he reached for the large record player he had borrowed from her flat, moving the latest vase of flowers carefully onto the floor without looking at them and placing the record player in its stead. For a few moments, he stared at it, wondering if he was being stupid, ridiculous, juvenile... but he could still recall a conversation with Sam, about the paki in the coma, whose girlfriend had played him music as he slept – familiar music, he remembered Sam saying. Anything familiar at all – touch, voices, music... He picked up the record sleeve he had placed on the floor, removing the disc almost nervously before putting it in place and lowering the needle to its surface, waiting with trepidation, his spare hand over his mouth, eyes fixed on her face as the first notes played and Rod Stewart's voice filled the room, the words ringing true in his head as he entwined their fingers together once again. "_I didn't know what day it was, when you walked into the room, I said hello unnoticed, you said goodbye too soon_..."

The lyrics washed over him like a balm, filling him with familiar warmth and aching recognition, recalling, more vividly than ever, the sight of her that first evening in Luigi's, the brush off in the evidence room, the fact that she was so far away now... The complicated relationship he had had with Alex since day one had been completely, hauntingly echoed through this one song, and he found himself analysing it in a way that, were she to have done it, he would have labelled as 'psycho-bollucks'. He had never been a Rod Stewart fan, really, but having happened across a box of records which were covered only in a thin sheen of dust in the corner of the room, Gene had found himself playing, to his utter dismay, Alex's whole collection of music, passing some of it off as absolute bollucks, whilst other pieces he played for hours on end.

For some reason, this song had been played so often that he had wondered, several times, why the disc had not worn down to a thin and spindly layer of plastic. He had lain awake for the majority of a night the previous week, repeating the song over and over, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette burning away in the other. He'd only stopped playing it when Luigi appeared at three in the morning, complaining that the music was too loud, and that the song hadn't changed for five hours. He'd sighed, removing the needle and sitting idly on the sofa, instead murmuring the words to himself, his voice toneless and unattractive, but the words still ringing true as they slid idly through his mind.

The song spoke, uncannily, of Gene's feelings for Alex – her manners, her fashion sense, her annoying habits – in Gene's opinion, 'habits' was a nice way of putting it, he himself would have described them as godforsaken rituals that she felt absolutely determined to go through, whether she had to kick him in the teeth to do it or not. Like putting on the seat belt, for example; even Sam, eventually, after much kicking and screaming and sighing and coercion, had consented to drive beltless; Alex, however, found it necessary to lecture him on statistics he was sure couldn't be real, about the number of passengers thrown through the front windscreen, compared to the number of drivers. Once, he'd offered that Ray sit in the front instead, only to have her glare at him, and make yet another comment about the fact his fags were going to cut down his sperm count, and if he had any desire to attract women in future, he should cut it down to three a day... He'd promptly smoked five more.

He sighed, glancing idly towards the door, where he had hung the long, ridiculous cardigan she sometimes wore, in the hope that, when she finally awoke, she wouldn't go home cold, however stupid she might appear in that getup... not that she couldn't pull it off, of course- the daft tart could pull off any outfit she threw on in the morning, even if she had both hands tied behind her back and rolled in wearing nothing but a sack... he was pretty sure she already knew how goddamned gorgeous she looked anyway, although if she didn't, it wasn't like he'd ever get the guts up to tell her. Not if he wanted her to take him seriously, anyway. He glanced at her hospital gown, at the wristbands on her arms, and he smirked slightly at the inevitability of it all; she still looked bloody gorgeous with a bloody tablecloth wrapped around her shoulders.

Gene sighed, standing up and settling himself on the mattress beside Alex, his hand drawing hers into his lap as his other traced down her cheek, rough fingers caressing the smooth skin, tingling at the contact, with heat and warmth as he tangled his index finger around a stray tendril of hair, the natural curl tightening as he wound it tenderly around his digit, smirking at the silken feel of it, listening to the guitar of the song increase in tempo, smiling as Rod repeated the chorus over and over, with such a lack of care that it was admirable. It wound to a stop, and Gene set it to play once more, drawing his hand from her face and simply cupping her own hand with both of his, rubbing heat into her cool skin as he spoke, his voice soft.

"Should've been there, Bols," he murmured, glancing at her face only once before returning to the fascinating sight of her fingers entwined around his own. "They're missin' yer... I mean... we're missin' yer... _I'm_ missin' yer..." the emphasis of the word struck him, but there had never been a moment when he'd doubted it, though it still shocked him every time that he realized it anew. "Chris gave a speech, the daft twonk... only I- well... I kinda missed it, Bolly... after 'e started talkin' about yer it was like- like I shouldn' be there without you..." he blinked, gulping, squeezing her hand as though for reassurance before going on. "They all want yer to wake up, Alex... ain't just me who's a miserable git, ok? Made us drink bloody Bollinger in your honour, yer know?" he laughed to himself, turning her hand over and tracing the lines of her palm with the tips of his fingers, absently trailing across the veins of her wrist before drifting back down once more. "Didn't taste as good without yer posh gob in the background, though... should've been drinkin' it with you..."

The song continued on, and Gene sighed, continuing to trace patterns into her bare skin as he spoke again, his voice soft, almost nervous, despite the fact she was asleep, and there was nobody else nearby. "'ope yer don't mind me borrowin' yer stuff," he said softly, glancing at her face as though half expecting her to turn around and begin to yell at him for being so presumptuous. When she didn't, he rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're gunna keep snoozin' on like this, I need summat ter keep me sane..." He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was nearly seven, wishing he could stay, and yet feeling duty bound to go back and keep Annie company at the wedding, to make sure she wasn't feeling left out, lonely, apart from the rest of them... He sighed, keeping his eyes averted from Alex as he spoke again.

"Annie came down, love... think she'd 'ave wanted ter meet yer if I 'adn't buggered off like a twonk after that toast... She was talking about Sam- told 'er 'ow bloody stubborn and disobedient you two little buggers were, an' y'know what, Bols? She laughed at me." He chuckled, shaking his head and drawing a cigarette and lighter from his pocket with one hand, the other firmly entwined with hers as he sat there, lighting up in silence. "Cheeky cow, that one," he said, smirking. "Gorgeous, mind, but a cheeky bitch..." he squeezed her hand, smiling. "Sam did good there, I ain't gunna lie... but she ain't got a notch on you, Bolly... so 'ow about you wake up an' come back with me now, 'ey? Show me what I'm missin'?"

Nothing. His chest heaved as he breathed softly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as his fingers danced up her arm and down again. "I'll show you the Gene Genie dance moves, 'ow about that?" Still nothing... he wasn't surprised; of all possible incentives to come back, Gene's dancing wasn't one of them. Instead he lifted her hand to his face, resting his cheek against the cool flesh of her palm, breathing deeply as he gazed down at her. "Yeah," he murmured, "I don't blame yer – can't dance fer beans..." He turned his face, pressing his lips to the fluttering pulse at her wrist, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the sign that she was still in there and alive beat against his lips. For a few moments, he treasured it, and then pulled away, carefully extricating his hand from hers and placing it back down on the bed beside her.

"Wish you'd been there, Bolly Knickers," he murmured, tentatively stroking a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. "Yer wouldn' get a chance to sit on that peachy arse of yours all night," he smirked, thumbing her cheek lightly before whispering to her, his voice gentle. "Get some sleep, Bolly... I'll be 'ere when yer wake up." He pulled back with one final, wistful caress of her cheek, and then flipped the needle from the record, sliding the disc back into its sleeve and placing the player itself onto the wicker chair before replacing the vase on the table. It was only on doing so that he noticed the card attached to the flower stems, and after a moment's hesitation, he picked it up, opening it with a quick glance at Alex's sleeping form. As he read, he smiled with amusement, nodding his head in approval.

_Ma'am, _it read, _we're very sorry you won't be there for our wedding, but you'll be in our thoughts and hearts all day. We'll come and visit as soon as we're back from the honeymoon! Feel better soon- the Guv's in a right grump without you! All our love, Mr & Mrs C. Skelton x_

With a roll of the eyes, he set it back on the bedside table, so that it would be instantly visible the very moment she woke up. After collecting up the record player and the record itself, Gene left, casting only one glance back towards the sleeping figure as he went.

---

The music was playing when Gene got back, the main lights off, replaced instead by disco lighting and glitter balls that could not have been more out of place in the extravagantly decorated Hotel. Chris and Shaz were dancing enthusiastically in the middle of the room, laughing and flirting happily, arms wrapped around one another as they moved without any sign of co-ordination whatsoever. Gene smirked, glancing across at Ray, who was wrapped in a close embrace with the girl from Luigi's, whose name he was yet to pick up on, though it had sounded mildly exotic through Gene's intoxicated haze the previous evening. Annie was stood talking to Viv, whose arm was still around his girlfriend, although she looked to be less than involved in the conversation. Gene walked over, placing a hand on Annie's arm as he smiled at Viv in gratitude.

"Alright Guv?" He asked worriedly, his eyebrows creasing with concern. Gene nodded, gulping slightly as he did so.

"Fine, Skipper- just needed a smoke..."

Viv sent him a knowing look, and then nodded, turning to Annie with a large grin. "Nice meeting you, Annie," he said, before tugging his girlfriend away to dance, his hand straying down over her rear as he pulled her against him. Annie turned to Gene, her smile genuine, though there was a sincere undercurrent of concern as she raised her eyebrow at him.

"Alright, Cartwright, it wasn't just a smoke," he conceded, pulling another cigarette out and lighting up. "But I did 'ave a fag while I was gone!"

"How was she?" Annie asked knowingly, sinking into a nearby chair and indicating that Gene should join her. He ground his teeth, and then did so, shrugging his shoulders as he lowered himself into the seat.

"Same as ever, love. Sleepin', not a hint of a snore, an' about as responsive as old Liberachi's dick when he's-"

"You've used that before," Annie interrupted teasingly, grinning playfully as she reached for her drink and took a small sip of the red liquid in her glass. Gene glowered at her, motioning for a tired looking waiter and ordering a large whiskey before he bothered to turn back to Annie, knowing that when he did her eyes would be expectant and inquisitive; he wasn't wrong, but he was bitterly disappointed by the whole thing.

"Come on, Cartwright, what am I meant to say? She ain't flippin' over an' doin' cartwheels in there y'know?" He grabbed a bottle from the table in front of him, pouring himself a generous glass of red wine and downing a good half of it before he spoke another word, his jaw tight and the vein in his jaw pulsating visibly.

"I know, Guv," she sighed. "No sign of improvement, then?"

Gene shook his head, taking another gulp and watching without interest as Ray walked past, making a lewd face at him as he was led from the room by his brunette companion. Annie smiled, before looking back at Gene with sympathy in her gaze; he hated it. "Look, Cartwright, jus' 'cause I'm bothered she's dozin' all day don't make me a poofter, alright?"

She smirked, "Yes, Guv."

"An' I don' want yer tellin' old Phyllis I'm a soft sissy, or I'll get 'er offerin' to warm up me bed again, an' it was bad enough havin' to deal with that conversation once, let alone-"

"It's fine, Guv," she smiled, shaking her head. "Phyllis married the postman, anyway."

Gene laughed at that – or at least, a snort of amusement left his throat, and for a few moments he was grinning to himself and shaking his head in utter bewilderment. "Dirty cow! Knew she was 'aving it off with 'im an' all!"

"Oh no, that was the milkman," Annie smiled, pleased to see him smiling and reverting back to his old self, even if it was a more lewd and sexist version than this new, reformed Gene, who, were it not for the depressed outlook, might well have been amicable.

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Poor sod. She'll be onto the butcher next, or are yer gunna tell me she sunk her claws in there already?"

Annie shook her head, smiling. "No, the butcher's safe for now."

Gene smirked, "What a minx, 'ey?" He laughed, pouring himself another drink and feeling, for the first time, somewhat relaxed. "Litton's still as bent as a nine-bob note though, right?"

Annie laughed whole heartedly, swirling her own drink and shaking her head. "Apparently not- he married a journalist at the Manchester Herald."

"Bloody traitor," Gene muttered, growling his disgust. "Puttin' cops and journo's together's like having peas with yer 'oops! Shouldn' be surprised though – he always was a piece of bastarding scum. She'll dump 'im in a year."

Annie rolled her eyes, folding a serviette neatly in her lap as Gene considered her latest scrap of gossip, wondering briefly if she was pulling his leg before he was tapped on the shoulder, and found himself looking up into Chris's eyes, his smile almost hesitant and nervous as he shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing over to Shaz, who was being ambushed by various cousins and seemed unable to dislocate herself from their grasps. Without thinking, Gene stood up, stretching out a hand and clapping Chris on the shoulder when he took it in his.

"Well done Christopher," he mumbled, the words feeling strange in his mouth as he too risked a glance across at Shaz, who was looking at Chris like she was in dear need of help. When Gene glanced at her new husband, though, he saw that Chris seemed too dumbfounded by the sight of her to realize what she was doing. With a roll of the eyes, he clouted the DC round the back of the head, watching as his hair fell slightly out of place and he began to blink in confusion, as though he were just waking up from a deep sleep.

"Soz, Guv," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, making a small grimace before he looked down at his black, freshly polished and shining leather shoes. "An' 'bout earlier, like, we didn' want yer to leave, just got-"

"It's fine," Gene murmured, glancing at him only briefly before averting his eyes, though his words fell on deaf ears as Chris continued to ramble, speaking without real consequence as Gene's eyebrows knitted themselves together in a frown.

"- ran out o' things to say. It were like- it weren't- well- I dunno... An' we did want 'er 'ere, Guv, honest, we did, we sent some flowers, like, an' told 'er to wake up, an' we're gunna-"

"I know," Gene replied, meeting the DC's confused gaze with steadiness in his eyes. Chris blinked, frowned, and then narrowed his eyes.

"How'd yer-?"

"Well I wasn' exactly sat outside singin' 'hallelujah' to meself, was I, you daft twonk?" Exasperated, Gene reached for his wine, downing it swiftly as the waiter approached with the large tumbler of whiskey in his hand. "Same again," Gene muttered, ignoring Annie's roll of the eyes and Chris' deliberate turning of the head, and adding, with a shrug in Annie's general direction, "twice." The waiter simply nodded, although his eyebrows flew noticeably a few inches higher up his forehead as he turned away, a spectacle that would have further increased had he turned round once again and seen Gene downing the drink in one large gulp, before reverting back to the bottle of red that he had very nearly finished, and looking at Chris as the younger man blinked, frowning slightly.

"Yer went to see 'er then, Guv?" He asked, confused.

"Yes," Gene replied, drinking deeply and avoiding eye contact, catching sight of a white flash of fabric at the corner of his eye, certain in a moment who had joined their company, and lifting his head to nod briefly at Shaz, before returning to his drink.

"How was she?" Shaz asked, and Gene assumed that she had heard the tail end of the conversation and put two and two together – a feat, he considered, that perhaps she could pass on to Chris in the process of their living together.

He gulped, placing his glass back down and avoiding any of their faces as he shrugged, rubbing his hand against his nose before he spoke, sniffing slightly. "Fine," he said softly, "normal... the same, really..." He sighed, glancing at Shaz and noting the look of sorrowful dejection in her eyes. "Sorry, love," he murmured, watching as Chris slid an arm around her waist and tugged her into his arms, one hand stroking through her hair, his lips pressed tenderly and lovingly to her forehead. "I know yer wanted 'er here."

Shaz smiled, swiping at her tearful eyes and shaking her head. "It's fine, Guv... I know I don't miss her as much as you do..." She looked down, and Gene could only nod, voice failing him for several minutes.

"Yeah..." he managed finally, "maybe..." The waiter reappeared, pushing a glass of whiskey into his hand with impeccable timing, and placing the other on the table in front of him. Gene downed it in one, swiftly slamming the glass back down and glancing at Shaz awkwardly. "C'mon then Gra- Skelton," he muttered, offering his hand. "If I can't dance with Bolly, I best 'ave one with you."

Shaz stared, Chris blanched, and Annie pealed with tipsy laughter that turned all three of their heads towards her and made her blush beet red in the dim light. "I'll 'ave you know, Cartwright, the Gene Genie moves like a dream!"

Annie continued to giggle, covering her mouth as splutters of amusement left her throat. Gene rolled his eyes, glancing at Chris apologetically. "Right, Christopher, shove off an' let me take the lady fer a spin, would yer?"

Blushing, Shaz placed her hand in Gene's with a grin in Chris' direction, pausing only to cup his cheek and press her lips to his for a sweet, tender moment, where Gene felt decidedly awkward, and Annie remained demonstrably pissed. After a seconds thought, he heaved Annie up by the elbow, smirking as she stumbled into the table. "Come on Cartwright, you better come an' all – can't 'ave yer fallin' on yer face now, can we?"

After a moment of shrieking protest, in which her face went bright red and she shook her head from side to side hurriedly, Annie sighed, allowing Gene to steer her by the elbow around the table. "You too, Christopher – might look a bit questionable if I start gropin' yer Missus."

Chris smiled, grabbing Shaz's outstretched hand and joining the string of four people as they were led to the dance floor by a happier Gene than any of them had seen in months.

----

It ended up as something of a mess, with Ray and his companion – whose name, it transpired, was Isabella, and who apparently came from Italy – joining in after only a minute, resulting in a large tangle of limbs, to the point that it became difficult to tell whose arms were whose, unless they all took the time to glance down at their back. Gene was vaguely aware of Annie's head squished awkwardly under his armpit, and Ray's large perm bouncing around all over the shop as he attempted to entice the rest of the group into leaping up and down to the beat. Chris and Shaz were somehow pushed into the middle, and the rest of them circled them so tightly that they were all gasping for breath from a combination of laughter and suffocation.

He shouldn't have noticed it then.... he was laughing for what felt for the first time in forever, and he wasn't even so pissed that he was slurring yet. He was just happy – genuinely happy, for a few wonderful moments as he and Ray teased Chris about the wedding night, and the girls giggled together at something Shaz had whispered deviously to Bella and Annie.

He shouldn't have noticed- he should have simply enjoyed it...

But he did notice.

He noticed the second he looked down into Annie's face, and saw, beneath all the laughter, the bitter regret and mourning that seemed permanently resident behind her deceptively bright brown eyes. He knew - he knew the moment Ray's arm snuck around Bella's waist, and the second Chris tugged Shaz into his chest to whisper something that had her laughing for several moments - that something was missing.

Annie's eyes, bright with laughter moments before, seemed dulled and hardened as she drew away, smiling awkwardly up at Gene before pulling herself back, letting his arm fall from her shoulders as she walked unsteadily back towards the table; he wasn't sure in that moment if she was weak with grief or simply hammered. Her absence made his own part in the group huddle seem even less significant, and as Ray winked across at him and lewdly ran his hand down Bella's back, only to have it slapped playfully away, Gene felt very significantly alone, apart from the rest of the group as Chris led Shaz away for their own private dance, the song slowing down and numerous couples taking their places twined around one another and swaying drunkenly to the music.

With a sigh, he turned away, feeling for the first time the incredible loneliness that widowers and singletons must feel every time they attended a party of any sort. He'd never really noticed it before- the last time he'd attended a wedding, he'd taken the Missus, and had thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing because it was the one time he didn't have to try for sex – something about weddings had always made her burst into joyous tears and drag him home by his tie, and the combination of that promise, alongside the fact that he spent the day laughing at Sam's side, teasing Annie about the mess she had gotten herself into now, had led him to ignore the people who sat on the sidelines as the music faded into gentle rhythms that were only fit for two. He'd always had someone with him- even if there wasn't the same connection between he and his wife as there was with the other couples – now he didn't.

He could have asked Annie – it might have been considered the decent thing to do, given that she was alone as well, but he knew she'd brush him off, knew that she'd pulled away from the group for a reason; nobody else was Sam.

Nobody ever would be.

And the truth of the matter was, as appalling as it was to that part of him that had never wanted to fall so intricately for one person, he didn't want it to be anyone but Alex anymore. A year ago, perhaps, he could have settled for a friend, or a one night stand, or a woman he'd never expect to see again... But not now.

He returned to the table, picking up his drink from next to Annie and downing the amber liquid before his bottom touched the chair. He didn't say anything, simply looking at her with concern in his gaze, waiting for her to speak first above the gentle hum of the music, ignoring the ridiculous lighting and the swaying couples before them as he sat there, looking at the makeup that had streaked down her face, and at the black lines of mascara making trails to her chin as her tears fell thick and fast, dripping onto her clasped hands like the first spots of rain on the floor.

She was silent, but for the gentle sob that left her mouth now and then, and Gene did nothing except wait, watching her, silent and companionable as he let her cry, refusing to interrupt, to bare out the grief he had known she would have to rid herself of the moment he had heard she would be attending. He didn't tell her it would be ok, and he didn't wrap her in his arms and rock her gently; he was the Guv- Gene Hunt. He wasn't her Sam; nobody but Sam could make her feel better, and the bitter fact of the matter was, he was too far away to make a difference. He had never tried to be Sam for her – he was a friend, a companion, a colleague, but he knew she couldn't be consolidated by just anyone.

He knew the feeling. Uncannily so, in fact - after having spent those several minutes in the CID huddle that had given him more companionship than he had managed in months, he knew that it wasn't random arms around his back that he needed; it was Alex's. It was all well and good enjoying a laugh, teasing and chuckling as he joined in with friendly banter, but the entangled arms had made him feel no skip of the heart or flip of the stomach. He hadn't had to breather deeper, nor close his eyes to control his thoughts and his body; he had simply stood there, wishing, more than anything, that they were Alex.

It took Annie several minutes, and when she did finally speak, there was no hiding the definite quaver of her voice, or the sniffle of her nose as she swiped at her tears with frustration. "I'm sorry, Guv," she whispered, "I'm being silly."

"Don't be daft," Gene said, shifting closer and resting his hand on her chair, any further words failing him as he glanced towards the dance floor, then back again, seeing her sigh with sadness and shake her head.

"I just miss him, that's all- I should be used to it by now..." she looked around almost desperately, and Gene sighed, shrugging his shoulders and averting his gaze to the floor.

"I miss 'im an' all, Annie," he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on a fallen piece of cutlery, ignoring the fact that, out of the corner of his eye, he could see her staring at him in perplexed shock. He sighed, glancing back at her and meeting her eyes. "No need to look so surprised, love; just 'cause I'm a bloke doesn't mean I can't miss the daft bugger!"

"I know but- you _said_ it." She kept staring, and he chewed awkwardly on his lip.

"Yeah," he murmured eventually, nodding. "Well... it ain't like anybody else is gunna hear, is it?"

Annie smiled sadly, shaking her head. "No, Guv... course not." She waited for him to say something, and when he didn't, she touched his shoulder gently. "She's changed you, y'know?" She murmured.

Gene nodded, slowly, not bothering to try and deny it; what was the point. "Yeah, Annie love," he murmured, "I know she 'as." He took another sip of his drink, swallowing hard.

"For the better, I think," Annie told him softly, drawing her hand away. "Sam always said you just needed a good woman to get you in line... I'm glad you found one."

"She ain't mine though, is she?" Gene murmured, gulping as he tapped half-heartedly on the table. "She's just a good woman... she's not mine."

Annie reached for his hand, squeezing softly as she spoke. "I think she's more yours than you think," she told him, smiling warmly. "You don't invite men up to your flat on a regular basis if you're 'just friends'." She gave him a knowing look, whilst Gene stared at her in utter surprise, before glancing at her watch. "I should really go... my taxi's coming in twenty minutes." She stood up, swaying slightly; Gene caught her, rolling his eyes as she stumbled.

"Never could handle yer drink Cartwright," he muttered. "Come on, love; let's get you outside."

---

Having congratulated Chris and Shaz once more, and giving both Ray and Chris large, emotional hugs that both men appeared bemused by, Annie allowed Gene to lead her outside, sitting down next to him on a low wall as they waited for her taxi.

"You will tell her, won't you?" Annie asked after a few moments silence, watching as Gene smoked slowly and sedately at her side. His hand stilled slightly as he glanced at her.

"Tell 'er what, love?" He asked, exhaling from the side of his mouth.

Annie was about to answer, when suddenly the taxi arrived, and she blushed, shaking her head. "This is me," she stood up, smiling as Gene joined her and walked her to the car. At the door, he leant down and brushed his lips softly to her cheek.

"Take care," he murmured, choosing not to pose any further question as she gathered her skirts around her. "An' keep in touch."

She smiled. "Yes, Guv," she said, nodding and returning the small kiss with a blush. "You too."

"It's Gene," he corrected her, watching as she got in the car, closing the door behind her and frowning as she lowered the window, nodding and smiling up at him.

"Yes, Gene," she smiled. After a second of silence, she added, in a soft, quiet whisper, "Sam always said that you couldn't say 'I love you' enough – and he was right... he told me every day, and I still wish I could hear it again."

Gene nodded, unable to say anything, nor do anything but smile weakly at her. She rolled her eyes, smiling warmly, and then leaning forward to talk to the driver. He didn't hear what she said, but then she turned back to him, her eyes shining. "Bye, Gene," she whispered.

He nodded. "Bye Annie, love."

----

**Hope you liked it!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	14. Scars of the Past

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**This was something of a spontaneous plot movement... so I hope its ok!**

**---**

It was wrong; she knew it perfectly well, and there was no denying it at all, but the fact that it was wrong seemed to do nothing to dissuade her from the simple fact that it felt _right._

She was all too aware of the fact he was older, frailer, less alive and wholly weaker than she could ever have imagined him, and that if he really was Gene, then it wasn't _that_ Gene... because Gene didn't sit around in hospitals for years, waiting for a woman to wake up on the off chance that maybe – just maybe – she would give him the opportunity to love her; that wasn't who Gene was, that wasn't why he made her blood run hot with anger and lust, and hatred and love...

But it didn't stop her, because, somehow, it didn't seem to matter; she was inexplicably drawn to him, and though she was unsure sometimes whether she could truly tell the difference between this Gene and_ her_ Gene, she found that she didn't care – couldn't bring herself to care – because _this _Gene was real.

Old enough to be her father though he was, every time she saw his cragged face, her heart leapt – her heart leapt, and although she couldn't tell him, or show him, or express any of the true sentiment that lay behind her careful walls and barriers, she felt a desperate, inexorable need to be near him; so she kept coming despite herself.

She knew it was selfish.

The first time she'd come back, her heart had dragged in her chest and felt like a solid block of lead; she'd almost turned around, almost kicked the habit before it had even begun, almost ducked her head out of sight and watched him leave for good- and then he'd seen her. The look on his face had been one of confusion and hurt, but under it there was a sense of relief, as though some large question of life had been answered with untimely clarity.

"You're back," he'd said, voice hoarse, almost nervous, before he ran his hand through his thinning grey-blonde hair and gulped hesitantly. She'd simply nodded, biting her lip to fight against the tears that had threatened to spill from her eyes, before glancing hopelessly towards the door.

"How is she?" She asked vaguely, nodding towards the room Gene had just left, for no other reason than to quell the awkward silence that had settled over them.

Gene shrugged, nodding non-committally as he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his well-worn overcoat. "Well, she ain't exactly jiggin' 'er socks off in there, Molly, I'll be honest." His tone wasn't angry, or bitter- he was almost attempting to be light-hearted, though the effort didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course," she whispered, turning her head away and nodding. "Would- would you like to get a coffee?"

If Gene looked surprised, it was nothing compared to the confusion that took hold of Alex as the words slipped from her lips. She almost took them back, fumbling with alternatives as she attempted to cover up her tracks and wave it off, but then, after only a moment of pained confusion, Gene nodded, glancing back towards the other Alex's room briefly as he did so.

"Sure," he murmured, gulping visibly, and Alex had to stop herself from blinking in surprise. "Though I apologise in advance for the dreary company – was a time I'd 'ave livened it up with a dash of the old liquor, but since not drinkin' an' drivin's suddenly more important than a condom dispenser in a brothel, I guess the coffee will just 'ave to do." He'd rolled his eyes, and motioned for her to lead the way, and that was that; she'd led him to the canteen, and they'd sat down together at a corner table with two steaming cups of coffee, and a large number of sugar sachets to settle Gene's unnaturally keen sweet tooth.

She had been more than a little surprised when the conversation had flowed easily. If she was honest with herself, she'd been expecting him to take on the uncomfortable persona he had often adopted whenever he was well out of his depth and searching for a handhold to gain control, but there'd been no sign of any such discomfort; he'd complained bitterly about laws and legislations that had been enforced in areas where he and Alex – her mother, for the intents and purposes of their conversation – had once revelled in their freedom, he'd snorted at the ridiculous price of the coffee, and he'd made several mocking turns of phrase at her profession.

If it hadn't been for the shadows under his eyes, the lines that were etched into his face and the laughter that failed to cause his eyes to twinkle, she would have said he was just the same – just her Gene...

But he wasn't; the knowledge hurt, and she'd been preparing to distance herself from him, to stop putting him through whatever confusion he was evidently experiencing, to simply walk out of his life as quickly as she had seemed to come into it and leave him be – she could have done it, she thought, she could have left and moved on with her life, even though it would have physically pained her to do so... But as she'd made to leave, he'd stood from the table, his expression pained and desperate as he had caught her wrist in his frail hand.

"I'll tell you about 'er sometime," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "Yer Mam... I'll tell you about 'er, if yer like?"

She'd wanted to say no; it would do him no good, would only cause him pain if she sat there taunting him any more than she already had... but she'd seen the need in his eyes, and against her better judgement, she'd felt herself caving; she knew that look - it was the look that said inexplicably how desperately he needed to talk to someone, how implicit the desire to share his unforgiving burden was... It was a look she'd never seen in his eyes, and a there was a horribly large part of her that was desperate to see this foreign side of his personality; so she'd said yes, and she'd taken his phone number down, despite every shred of common sense which screamed at her to turn away from it.

Three weeks later, and there she was, sat in 'Allie's Cafe' with Gene seated directly opposite her.

----

It was the fifth time she'd visited him, and though every time she insisted she could stop, she had not yet managed to draw herself away. The feelings of friendship that had always been present burned afresh, and if Gene had any objections to her company, he had so far failed to voice them. If anything, he seemed relieved to talk to someone, the words tumbling awkwardly but freely from his mouth, as though they had forever been bottled up, and only now had someone popped the cork. The first time she had agreed to meet up with him, she'd barely spoken at all, listening intently as Gene spoke warmly, painfully, achingly...

If she'd doubted it at all beforehand, by the end of that visit, she was absolutely convinced of his genuine feelings for her; the knowledge caused her physical pain, and she'd had to excuse herself to the bathroom for ten minutes before feeling able to face him again.

He spoke both bitterly and beautifully, spinning the lines of a heartbroken man in amongst the achingly familiar jests and similes, sparing himself no blame whatsoever. When he spoke, it was with guilt-riddled longing and heart-breaking honesty, and though she knew he attempted to disguise his feelings as nothing more than friendship, Alex knew better; anybody would have done. He spoke with a romanticism that was untraditional of his character, and yet perfectly plausible all at once.

He mentioned her dress-sense, her taste in wine and her habit of folding the napkin neatly into triangles after she'd eaten; Alex could only gape as she realized how very well he knew her, and how oblivious she had always remained to it. Occasionally, he'd grin at her, point out an odd habit that he recognised and tease her warmly as she flushed in embarrassment.

And yet, she realized, despite all of the differences she could note, he was still as hopelessly infuriating as ever; on the one occasion they were not alone in the Cafe, but were in fact joined by - in Alex's opinion - a delightfully charming gay couple, Gene made a point of dropping several profanities and insults into the conversation, and despite the fact that Alex was eating chocolate fudge cake at the time, she didn't believe for one moment that the fudge-packing comment was intended for her ears. Comfortingly familiar as the characteristic itself was, she hadn't been able to resist scolding him, and had felt completely out of sorts when his face creased into a look of confused recognition, as it so often did, before slipping back into a look of nonchalance.

Now, she sat opposite him once again, smiling thankfully at the stout man who brought over their drinks, and blinking in surprise when Gene addressed him familiarly. "Cheers Al," he muttered absently, taking his hip-flask from within his jacket and splashing a considerable amount into his cup. The upshot, he had explained on her first visit, of having a cafe beneath the place he lived, was that he could spruce up his drinks as much as he liked without worry for the consequences.

"He's Allie?" Alex asked, glancing at the large man as he pottered back behind the counter, her voice soft so that he wouldn't hear her. "I thought Allie was a woman?"

Gene smirked, in the same infuriating manner that he always did when he felt he had outsmarted someone. "He's got some French name – Allycan, or Allie-mare or somethin'..."

"Alistair?" Alex supplied, grinning herself.

He shrugged. "Dunno... to be perfectly honest I haven't bothered to get up close an' personal with the bloke, so 'is first name holds about as much interest to me as a carrot stick to a cannibal." He took a sip of his coffee, allowing silence to descend for a few moments.

"So, is he French?" Alex asked, glancing at the man and wondering how she could possibly have missed a French accent in the middle of London; she was almost relieved when Gene shook his head, chuckling lightly as he did so.

"Nah, English, born an' bred – says 'is old man named 'im after some bloke 'e met on holiday once..." he rolled his eyes, taking a large sip of coffee. "Poof in disguise if you ask me, Bols, but-"

"Mols," Alex corrected him, her voice soft, averting her eyes as she swallowed hard. She could feel his immediate embarrassment, his sudden realization that she wasn't the same person, his eyes boring into her head... She expected him to suddenly stand up and excuse himself, as had become habit whenever he strayed too far into the familiarity that had once existed between he and her 'mother'... She was more than a little surprised when, instead of leaving, he leaned forwards, his wrinkled hands wrapped around his cup as he spoke, voice soft.

"Why don't you ask about her?" He asked, and his voice was more angered than she could recall him ever having been since meeting him in the present day; her eyes flew round to meet his without a seconds hesitation, and she gulped immediately, unable to find a suitable answer and hoping he would allow the question to slide; when a few moments later his eyes remained just as intense upon her own, she looked away.

"She's yer mother," Gene murmured softly, his eyes narrowing. "Yer don't talk about 'er, yer don't ask me anythin', you 'aven't been to see 'er..." he trailed off, a shadow passing over his face, just as Alex felt a familiar, ice-cold knife plunge into her chest at his words, feeling them strike an all-too recognized chord, despite being differently phrased and posed. She swallowed hard, shaking her head and searching for a plausible explanation.

"I don't- I don't want to upset you... I mean- she obviously meant a lot to you, and- and I'm not sure I'm the person you should talk to about it... It must be confusing for you- I mean, it's _obviously_ confusing..." she bit her lip, meeting his eyes and seeing them narrow slightly in accusation.

"You think I'm cracked?" He asked bluntly.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I just think that I'm- I'm similar to her in many ways, and it must be... odd."

Gene fiddled awkwardly with the spoon in front of him, his gaze hard as he waited a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was dry. "You're like her," he admitted, nodding slowly, more to himself than to her. "But- but you're not her. An' I know that..."

"Do you?" Alex whispered, her voice almost desperate as she looked at him imploringly, willing him to look back at her.

When he did, he froze, hazel eyes meeting blue for several seconds, both pairs filling with recognition and hurt that was both terrifying and wonderful to the other.... It seemed to take Gene a few moments to answer, his mouth opening and closing several times before he turned his head away and nodded. "Yes," he muttered abruptly. "You ain't her." He clenched his fingers reflexively, as though desperate for a cigarette, before glancing back at her with one furtive look.

"You aren't her," he repeated softly, and for a moment, Alex didn't know whether it was for his benefit or hers; a moment later it didn't matter, since he'd stood up and downed his coffee in one. A plunging, sickening grief swept through her, and Alex had to bite back tears as she nodded, simply for the sake of having a purpose.

"You know the problem with you psychologists?" Gene murmured, picking up his coat and tucking it over his arm gingerly, as though the action pained him. Alex looked at him in confusion, and he half-smiled as he replied. "You can analyse everythin' till the cows come home, but you won't listen to anyone's advice but yer own..." he trailed off, and then sighed to himself, almost sadly, Alex thought. "She's yer mother, Molly; you're allowed to miss 'er."

"Like you do?" Alex asked, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them. Gene looked at her with sad eyes, and she wondered if he was about to leave, to tell her she shouldn't visit him again...

"Yeah," he answered eventually, not tearing his eyes away from her as he gave a small, jerking nod of the head. "Like I do."

"I'm- I'm sure that she misses you, too," Alex answered, her voice gentle, soft and hesitant, lips stretching into a sad smile. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she moved her hand to cover his as it rested gingerly on the tablecloth; he withdrew it sharply, pushing both hands immediately into his pocket as though he were burned. Alex thought briefly that she felt her heart splinter, and the tears slid slowly free, tracking down her face unchecked; Gene's eyes were pained as they met her own, and she saw him swallow hard, as though to rid himself of an acrid, bitter taste.

"Maybe," Gene murmured in response to her previous statement, nodding non-committally. "But I doubt it..."

"Don't," Alex said instantly, her voice soft and imploring as she stood up. "She thought a great deal of you... more than you know..."

He met her eyes, his gaze searching and confused; she lost herself in the blue depths, hoping against hope that he could recognise her, that he'd finally believe her... His mouth was opening, he was about to speak, he was looking at her like he finally understood, and-

"Alex!" Evan's voice broke through the haze and her head shot round to see him walking into the cafe, his grey coat billowing slightly behind him as he approached the pair of them, relief evident on his face. "Thank goodness we've found you! I was worried about you, you shouldn't-!" He broke off, looking at Gene with confusion, but Gene's gaze was briefly directed elsewhere, at the twelve year old girl walking two steps behind her Godfather – the twelve year old girl who, two seconds later, skipped towards Alex to throw her arms around her back – before he glanced back at Alex.

"Mum!" Molly proclaimed, smiling up at her. "Evan's taking us out for dinner!"

Alex barely noted the words at all, looking across at Gene, who was staring dumbfounded at her, with anger and confusion in his eyes. "Your names Alex?" He asked, gulping hard. "You said your name was-?"

"I know," Alex whispered, shaking her head and blinking back tears without giving Molly a reply. "I know; I know you can't possibly understand why I did it, but-!"

"Hunt?" Evan asked, interrupting with confusion in his voice. "It- it is DCI Hunt, isn't it?" He stepped forward with a hand outstretched, a hand that Gene briefly eyed with suspicion and disdain before glancing back at Alex, his blue eyes pleading for answers. She didn't have time to speak before Evan was talking again, and Gene visibly rippled with anger as he turned his head back towards the other man. "It's Evan White," he smiled, stretching out a hand. "Good to-"

"I know who you are," Gene growled angrily, barely glancing at him before looking back at Alex. "I'm just not bloody listenin'!"

Evan withdrew his hand, looking bemused for a total of two seconds, before motioning for Molly to come to him. "Come on Scrap," he said, glancing from Gene to Alex with a frown. "Let's leave your Mum alone for a moment." Looking back to Alex as Molly walked over to him, Evan added, "we'll be in the car – we're parked on the corner."

She vaguely registered the comment and nodded in acknowledgement, before meeting Gene's eyes again, her lip trembling as she tried and failed to find the words to explain herself. There was burning accusation and confusion in Gene's gaze, and the only thought in her mind was that perhaps he might forgive her - if he understood why she'd done it, maybe he'd believe her, and maybe he'd realize that she wasn't just some crazy woman from the hospital... His next words cast her wishes aside like dust in a tornado.

"Y'know love," he said coolly, "I don't take kindly to bein' lied to." His voice was level, angry and yet calm all at once, and Alex felt the tears brimming as she shook her head helplessly. "An' when you pretend to be related to a friend of mine, I tend to behave a little irrationally... so you better start explainin' yerself, 'cause from where I'm sittin' you must be warped in the head to make up somethin' like that." His eyes were narrow, bitter and angry, and she recognised the same look that he had given her when he thought her corrupt, all those twenty-six years ago now, though to her it was nothing but a few weeks.

Alex gulped hard, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands before stepping closer, hand outstretched to touch his sleeve; he jerked away from her, and the sob she had been holding back arose unchecked, tears streaming freely down her face as she shook her head hopelessly from side to side.

"I'm not warped," she whispered, jaw trembling. "I'm not- I didn't want to hurt you... I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't want to- I wanted to tell you! You couldn't- you can't possibly understand, Gene! I tried- I tried so hard! I told you! I told you, and I know you couldn't believe me- why would you believe me? It's insane, Gene, but I'm not mad! I promise you, I'm not-"

"What the bloody hell are you rabbitting on about woman?" Gene's voice was terse and frustrated, but she didn't miss the undercurrent of concern at her presumed ramblings, or the slightly gentler touch than was strictly necessary as he pushed her down into the chair she had recently vacated. He settled tenuously on the chair opposite, and although he didn't move forward to comfort her, she was relieved to note that he didn't push his chair away. He sat with his arms crossed, the lines of his face creased in an intense frown as he watched her from across the table. Alex sniffed, once again swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before biting her lip.

"It's me, Gene," she whispered helplessly, her hand edging hesitantly across the table until it rested as near to him as possible. "It's me- it's Alex- your Alex... I'm your Bolly..." Her fingers clenched against the table cloth, her eyes imploring, fixed upon Gene's as she bit back violent sobs. His gaze never left hers, but the look in his eyes was thunderous, even if his voice was level.

"You know, you seem to have me down as some naive little schoolboy who'll believe any yarn you spin my way," his tone was slow and deliberate, as if he were assessing her reaction; she could only stare hopelessly at him as he went on. "Well I'm tellin' you now, I didn't get to DCI by listenin' to tarts with their knicker elastic so far up their arse it's cutting off oxygen to their brain; so I suggest you drop this quicker than a hot-baked turd an' tell me the truth!" His eyes flashed slightly, and Alex shook her head helplessly, covering her mouth and crying against her will.

"Gene, please... please... I know you can't possibly comprehend it, but I told you the truth, I told you everything, I promise I-"

"Leave," Gene said softly, his eyes darkening as he spoke. Alex froze, staring at him and sobbing continuously.

"No, no- no, Gene, please! Please, you have to believe me! You-!"

"If you were Alex," Gene growled, his eyes narrowed once more. "If you were _my_ Alex, you'd prove it. And you can't; she's in a hospital bed with tubes in 'er arms and grey in her hair – you're sat 'ere spouting more shit than a regurgitating toilet, lookin' barely a day past thirty!"

"I can prove it, Gene!" She implored, keeping her eyes locked with his. "Ask me anything, Gene; please! Anything..." She trailed off at the look of utter disdain in his eyes, and once again her hand scrabbled at the tablecloth, her eyes pleading and desperate. "Please?" She repeated softly.

"No," Gene said bluntly, grabbing his coat and getting quickly- if with a little difficulty- to his feet. He was almost out of the door which led up to the flat when Alex spoke, her voice cracking and etched with pain, but sincere and honest.

"You listened to my tape," she told him softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "And you- you thought I was corrupt... You thought I didn't trust you, Gene, but I did! I told you the truth! I promise that I told you the truth!"

Gene had frozen in the doorway, his shoulders rigid, but his face was turned away, and it was impossible for Alex to tell if he was angry or in shock. She stood up slowly as she carried on, her voice only for him; the waiter had found somewhere else to be, and Alex was more than grateful.

"You told me I was cold; you said that I never tried to contact my daughter, and that I never phoned her... and I punched you- just like I punched you after you didn't believe a prostitute for claiming rape. You took my warrant card, and you told me to stay away... And I didn't listen; you shot a bent copper, and you held him as he died – just like you held Mac, and like you held Sally... And when Jenette ran out and grabbed me, you shot me by accident..." Her voice cracked with pain as she found herself repeating the words, tears stinging her eyes like acid. "You shot _me_, Gene... It was me... please..."

At some point in her speech, he'd turned around, and his eyes were fixed upon hers with a combination of bewilderment, pain and anger. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were unbelieving, and her heart splintered into several million pieces.

"Gene, please... I need you to-"

"Evan White," Gene growled suddenly, eyes narrow. "How do you know 'im?"

She stared, wondering briefly if he was, in his roundabout way, admitting that he believed her, before she answered him honestly, her voice soft. "He's my godfather," she answered. "Before I got married, I was Alex Price- I was the little girl who-" She didn't get to finish, since Gene had already turned on his heel, leaving the room without a word and hurrying up the stairs to the flat. Alex watched sorrowfully for a moment as he moved gingerly up the stairs, before following him as speedily as she could, drawing level with him on the landing and stepping in front of the all-too-familiar door.

"Move!" He growled, clenching his fist briefly, before reaching for a cigarette and lighting up without regard for the 'No Smoking' sign behind his head. "Whoever you are," he hissed, "move!"

"I know it's impossible, Gene!" She whispered. "It's mad, but – but it's true! I told you it before, Gene, remember? I told you in your office! I was telling the truth Gene, you know I was! Deep down, you know I wouldn't lie, you know I-!"

"I don't know you from Adam," Gene growled, pushing her angrily against the door. "You fanny about pretendin' to be my DI's daughter, an' now I find out you think you're actually her?" He pushed her harder, hands gripping her shoulder as he spoke, the cigarette smoking away on its own in his fingers, spittle flecking her face as his anger seemed to drip from each word. "You've got more sides than a dice, love; but you better pick a face an' stick with it, sharpish, else you'll get banged up with the men in the white coats quicker than you can say 'cuckoo'!"

Alex's hand reached out, grasping a fistful of his shirt in desperation as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "It's me!" She whispered, hand tightening on the fabric. "It's Bolly... you know it is!" Her other hand reached to touch his cheek, the palm caressing the roughly stubbled skin tenderly; his own hand came out of nowhere, closing around her wrist and jerking it away from his face as though branded with a hot iron.

"Y'know," he said softly, his voice cold, stubbing out his cigarette on the door frame with his other hand, avoiding her eyes. "I've dealt with weirdo's, and psychos, and freaks for all my life, but you just topped 'em all." He pushed her hand away, and then moved to her other wrist, tugging at it in an attempt to wrestle her hand from his shirt; she held tighter, pulling herself against him in a painfully desperate, uncharacteristic movement.

"Believe me!" She pleaded, her other hand trembling as she reached up and grasped his shoulder. "I need you to believe me, Gene; I need you to understand – I thought I'd made you up! I thought it was just a dream, and it wasn't! I would never have lied to you, you know that! Never, Gene; please believe me!"

"Why should I?" He asked softly, grabbing both wrists and holding them firmly together, close enough to his chest that Alex could feel his thundering heartbeat. "Tell me that, Alex; why? The Alex I knows been in a coma for twenty-six years!"

"Because- because you know she's not mad... you know that; _I'm_ not mad..." she twisted her hands slightly, trying to link her fingers through his, but his grip was surprisingly firm, holding her wrists in place and stopping her from moving as he pressed her against the wall, body angled away from hers, though he applied enough strength with his hands to hold her firmly in place. For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of her tears, the pounding of his heart, and the look of hurt and betrayal that burned violently in his eyes.

"You know, you might look like her," he said eventually, his voice soft as he stepped slightly closer, his eyes dark as they met hers. "You might talk like her; you might even act like her sometimes – but you're not her. Y'know how I know that?" He pressed slightly closer, swallowing hard as his hands tightened on her wrists briefly, before suddenly and unexpectedly twining their fingers together, squeezing almost painfully against her hand as he went on. "I've held her hand every day," he growled, pulling his right hand free to turn her left one over with a jerk. "Every day for twenty-six years... I know every single grubby little scar in her skin," he continued in a soft growl, his long fingers tracing her palm both roughly and tenderly at once. They tracked the slight ridge in her skin where a door had scratched her in her youth, opening a thin slice across her hand; she briefly saw recognition flare in his wide eyes, felt his heart rate quicken as he held her hand to his chest... Then he'd passed over it, almost desperately, scouring her hand like a man possessed; he pushed firmly against the tiny freckle between her wedding finger and the little one; he practically scratched the barely visible white burn on the flat of her palm, all the while his eyes almost fearful, erratic, panicked...

And then he stopped. The tip of his index finger traced the very base of her palm almost reverently and Alex watched his face for any sign of recognition; a hint of a smile, a light in his eyes, a quirk of the lips followed by some smutty comment... There was nothing.

His eyes met hers again, and he tugged her hand slightly harder against his chest, twisting it for her to see and pointing with his other hand. "That's how," he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly around her wrist. Alex blinked, glancing at her hand in confusion. She'd cut herself only a few weeks after arriving in 1981, having broken a glass up in her flat – if she recalled correctly, she'd loosed a torrent of swearwords that even Gene had been impressed by as the whiskey had stung in the fresh cut. It had never healed properly, leaving a slight white line slightly to the left of the base of her palm... She stared dumbly for a few seconds, her face crumpling with confusion as her eyes scanned the unblemished skin repeatedly; it should have been there.

"No," Alex whispered, shaking her head and lifting her other hand to touch her palm. "No, no, it should be there- it should be there!" She frantically grasped Gene's shirt to stop from falling, her head spinning. It didn't make sense; the scar on her stomach still existed – the nurse had seen it, too. Helpless, she jerked her hand from Gene's, scrabbling at her loose t-shirt in panic and yanking it upwards without thought, ignoring the look on Gene's face which was flabbergasted and embarrassed in equal measure.

"Bloody hell, woman!" He snapped, pulling back and glancing away. "What the-?"

"Look!" Alex whispered desperately, her voice pleading and cracked as one hand held the shirt up, and the other darted out to grab his hand, tugging it against her stomach and pressing his index finger to the ridged skin. His eyes widened at her obvious intention, but they froze as his gaze was drawn to the flat of her stomach, to the small wound that was, to her utter relief, still etched into her skin.

"I- it's-" he gulped, his hand trembling as he pressed at the scar firmly with chilled fingertips, as though to ascertain whether it were real or not. He met her eyes carefully, edging slightly closer before pulling her hand back to his chest, pressing a finger to the blank expanse of skin with scrutiny in his eyes. "The cut that should be here," he murmured, "how did it happen?" His question was quiet, and he lifted his eyes slowly to meet her own. "If you're Alex, then you can tell me... right?"

Alex nodded, closing her hand around his as her jaw trembled. "I was drunk; we were- we were in the flat, and-"

"Show me where," Gene said, voice low. His hand slid into his pocket, drawing out a small key, which he slid into the lock of the door behind Alex's back.

Without saying anything else, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door, turning her gently around and pushing her into the familiar flat; heart hammering in her chest, knees wobbling beneath her and breath coming short to her lungs, Alex entered.

----

**Forget my predictions about how long this stories going to be – this chapter totally went off on a tangent, and now I don't know whether it will be less or more than I predicted. Don't get me wrong – I know how it's going to end and how it's going to happen... I just didn't mean to convolute so much, but I'm almost glad that I did.**

**I hope it's alright for you though – this was a difficult one to write, as I was trying to get the balance right between Alex's insistence and Gene's denial; I hope I paced his gradual opening up to the idea ok though... Let me know!**

**Many thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing- I'm glad you're still enjoying it.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	15. Pieces Of Our Shattered Hearts

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**Thanks for all the positive feedback, as ever – I hope this chapter is alright for you... it's been... **_**different**_**.**

**---**

The first thing she noticed was the smell; it was so very Gene, that despite the fact it was stale cigarettes and alcohol, she found herself inhaling lungful after lungful of it, catching the distinct and yet subtle hint of Old Spice in the air, and closing her eyes briefly to the welcome familiarity of it. When she opened them again, she bit back a small gasp of surprise, glancing briefly back at Gene, who leaned almost casually against the doorframe, although he was riddled with discomfort, and his eyes shone mournfully back at her as he kept his arms crossed over his chest. Alex gulped hard, turning back to the rest of the room with a lump in her throat, and praying he wouldn't notice the guilt in her expression as she surveyed the familiar layout.

It was her flat, she realized; he'd barely changed anything in twenty six years. It was almost exactly as she had left it, but for a few beer bottles and betting slips that were not there when she'd left for St Douglas Road. Everything else was the same; the old sofa was worn down now, the pattern barely visible in the fabric, the left seat sagging slightly in the middle, as though it were the only side he'd dared to sit on... But it was the same. It was the same television, the same chair, the same phone, the same table... she briefly considered that it might even have been the same magazines she'd left under the coffee table that fateful morning, before biting back a sob of grief so profound she could barely breathe...

"Show me," Gene spoke up, his voice hollow, distant, dry... She blinked slightly, then glanced at him, watching his eyes for a few moments, watching his eyes darken with annoyance and frustration, before she nodded slowly, and moved into the kitchen.

Gene followed her slowly, his gaze narrowed as she led the way; Alex simply ignored him, heading straight to the cupboard that had always stored the alcohol, opening it up and pulling out a large bottle of whiskey. She didn't glance at Gene for confirmation that it was alright, nor ask him whether he wanted a drink; instead, she simply passed straight over the glasses on the draining board to open the cupboard in which they were held, well aware that Gene was watching her every move. His eyes widened slightly at the familiar ease with which she found the items, but he hid his surprise well enough, simply leaning against the kitchen wall as Alex poured both of them a generous measure of whiskey; Gene took his silently, giving no sign of anything as he lifted his eyes to meet her own, waiting patiently for her to speak.

Alex looked down hesitantly at the liquid in her glass tumbler, taking a brief sip for courage and mulling over her words before she dared to speak, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see the way her knees trembled beneath her, or the manner in which her tooth dug nervously into her lip as she stood before him.

"You'd been in Luigi's," she whispered eventually, lifting her gaze to meet his once more, and trying her hardest not to sever the contact, despite the unnerving, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach as his piercing blue gaze stared right into hers. "I came upstairs a bit earlier than usual because I was tired," she went on, "and you followed half an hour later because you were sick of watching Ray molest some innocent woman, and the sight of Chris and Shaz made you want to throw up... If I recall correctly, I believe you said it was like watching two fish suck face..." she grinned slightly at the surprise in his eyes before adding, "It wasn't your best line, I admit, but you had been drinking..."

Gene's eyes widened slightly, and she saw a flicker of recognition in the blue depths, although she refused to respond to it, speaking slowly onwards as she stood there, whiskey in hand, and eyes fixated upon his face.

"I'd been drinking quite a bit too..." she whispered. "You went and sat on the sofa, and I came in here and got you a glass of whiskey – double, with ice, and in the crystal glass with the chip on the bottom that you used to like... I never did get around to replacing them..." She watched as he swallowed hard, his skin whitening slightly in what she hoped was recognition, before she reached out and touched his arm... And although he glanced down at her, he didn't draw away as she'd half-feared, simply acquiescing as she led him gently over to the sofa.

"Sit," she murmured softly; he sat, whiskey still in his hand, eyes boring into her skull. Gulping hard, Alex straightened up and headed back to the kitchen doorway, pushing her toe against the loose carpet and glancing across at Gene from where she stood as she did so. "I was bringing you a drink," she explained, "and I caught my foot in the carpet; I tripped, hit my head on the sofa, and fell here..." she stepped forwards, kneeling beside the arm of the chair and meeting his eyes as she placed her glass of whiskey upon the small phone table.

"I smashed the glass when I hit the floor; you thought I was pissed and laughed at me, until you realized I was actually bleeding... and when I started swearing you got up and wrapped it in a towel – it was my favourite one, as it happened, and you didn't even wet it, first..." She laughed dryly, wetting her lips with her tongue and sniffing slightly, attempting to hide the stinging tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. "Then you told me off for being a clumsy cow and made me drink a pint of water before you left..."

She watched him, waiting for any sign that he believed her for several seconds... When none came, she pushed herself to her feet, biting her lip hard, and then turning her eyes away so he wouldn't see the hot tears that sprang to life behind her eyes.

There was nothing but silence for what felt like forever; it dragged on and on, weighing on her shoulders and causing her to gulp and swallow painfully. All the while, Gene said nothing, his reaction untold as she waited in seemingly hopeless quiet...Eventually, just as she had lost all hope, just as she was considering walking to the door and leaving him alone, she heard him move, heard the clink of his glass as it touched the coffee table, heard the creaking of the sofa as he got to his feet... And then his hand found hers, his fingers trembling with some undetermined emotion as he drew her around to face him, clasping her own hand tightly to his chest.

Alex glanced up at him, unaware of the tears that fell from her eyes until his spare hand brushed them tenderly away with the pad of his thumb; his face was wrought with anguish and confusion, but his touch was soft and tender. Eventually, his fingers slipped into her hair, combing through and moving gently behind her head to loosen the practical bun that held it away from her face.

The soft brown hair tumbled down to her shoulders, and his blue eyes tracked her face hungrily, taking in the hazel eyes, the sharp eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the curves of her lips, the simple make-up... His expression was unreadable, guarded, and for a few moments she worried that he would draw away, tell her to leave, accuse her of lying... But he didn't. Instead, he stepped closer, allowing her hair to slide over his hands like silk, smoothing his fingers across the smooth alabaster skin of her cheeks, and then squeezing her hand in his and wetting his lips slowly.

"It's you..." he murmured eventually, his voice dry and cracked with emotion. Alex could say nothing, tears falling thick and fast now as she nodded helplessly, closing her fingers tightly around his own. "Christ..." he muttered, gulping hard, his Adams apple bobbing slightly as he cupped her cheek. "You're just the same..."

Alex managed a watery chuckle, sniffing slightly as she touched her hand to his cheek, thumb rasping against the scattering of grey stubble. "I didn't think you'd believe me," she whispered honestly, her jaw trembling. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, biting her lip. "I thought – I thought I was mad, Gene – I thought I made you up... But you're real... you're here..." Her hand slid into his grey-blonde hair, and she couldn't help noticing the intensity of his blue eyes as he kept her other hand held firmly against the thunderous pounding of his heart.

"I didn't think I would either," he admitted softly, swallowing hard. "Still don't get any of it..."

"Nor do I," Alex whispered, eyes stinging. "I- you have no idea how much I've missed you... I thought it was all in my head, and now you're here, and I just- I just want you to know that-"

She stopped then, blinking in shock as he lifted her hand gently away from his chest, stroking across the clear, unblemished skin that should have been scarred with a cool, gentle finger, before pressing his rough, dry lips to her wrist.

The simple action caused her breath to catch in her throat, shivers tracking down her spine as Gene's eyes closed, his fingers tracing down her wrist and playing across the soft, supple skin. "I think I've got a pretty good idea, Bolly," he murmured, gently kissing her palm as he spoke.

The use of her old nickname made her heart clench, her tears leaking swiftly from her eyes, and a moment later she had thrown her arms around him, wrenching her hand from his grasp as she clung to him in a hopeless, desperate bid for clarity and confirmation. He stumbled slightly, his arms around her back, as much in a bid to stay on his feet as it was to return her embrace; her sobs were harsh and uneven, and Gene held her awkwardly, his frail hands uncertain as they rested against her back. Alex buried her face in his neck, her whole body shaking as she tangled her fingers into his hair again, her tears wetting the warm skin of his throat as she clung onto him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again. "I'm so sorry, Gene! I'm so, so sorry, I-!"

Gene squeezed her tentatively, speaking hesitantly in her ear. "Wasn't your fault," he murmured, rubbing awkward circles in her back and gulping against the nervous lump in his gullet.

"I should have told you," Alex whispered, clinging onto him, fingers digging into his back as though to maintain a permanent grip.

"Wouldn't 'ave believed you," he admitted, resting his head against hers and feeling his heart rate quicken drastically as her scent filled his nostrils and her hands smoothed across his shoulders and back in hesitant caresses. With a sigh, holding her tight, he murmured quietly in her ear, stroking a hand over the soft locks of her hair as he did so. "I'm still not sure I do..."

Her hands tightened again, and Alex drew back to look at him, her make-up stained face blotchy and - in Gene's opinion - just as beautiful as he'd ever seen it. "What will it take?" She whispered softly, placing one hand on his shoulder whilst the other moved upwards to cup his cheek.

Despite himself, despite being unable to shake the feeling it was all a dream, Gene returned the tender gesture, cupping her face between his large hands, feeling the warmth of her skin and the wetness of her cheeks as he stepped closer, resting his forehead gingerly against hers.

Alex was dimly aware of the wrinkles around his eyes, the tired bags that emphasized his eyelids, and the still enviably long lashes that framed the startling blue pools of colour, but more striking was the taste and smell of his breath in her face; whiskey, cigarettes, coffee... She'd dreamed it so often, but the reality was so much sharper, filled with underlying hints of spice and flavour that set her head spinning, and she treasured the warmth of his skin against hers, the feel of his hands upon her cheeks.

"Dunno," he murmured softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he spoke. "Couple o' slaps?" He mused. "Punch to the gob? Dressin' me down like a naughty schoolboy?" His lips turned up in a silent grin at the thought, and Alex smiled, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"Would it convince you?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she delicately began to caress a particularly striking dash of grey in his hair, smiling into his face and willing him to open his eyes again, to view the meaning in their depths... He did, lids opening in a gentle, fluttering motion as his eyes fixed once more upon her own.

"Probably not," Gene smiled, the grin breaking across his face slowly, followed by a soft shake of the head. "I'd probably think I was dreamin'..."

Alex hesitated only a moment, her breath shaky, before she spoke in a quiet voice; "Good dream?"

Gene hesitated, and then nodded slowly, his own breath hitching slightly as he thumbed her cheek gently once again. "Best dream of my life, Bols..." He whispered, wetting his lips with his tongue.

She trembled against him, her fingers tightening on his shoulders in anticipation as his head turned slightly to the side, moving forwards to brush her own lips with a barely-there caress. She instantly tugged him closer, wrapping her hand in his hair and pressing a more insistent touch to his lips; she was vaguely aware of his shoulders relaxing, of a soft sigh leaving his lips, before his mouth caught her own, desperate and imploring as she responded with equal fervour, pressing so close to him that she could feel the pounding of his heart through the closeness of their chests.

His hands remained upon her cheeks, holding her face firmly in their grasp, remaining unmoving on her face as she kissed him eagerly, as he kissed her with a desperation that he had never dared to imagine, his heart hammering, breath quivering, feeling her hands tightening in his hair as she sighed into his mouth... And then, as quickly as he'd started it, he stopped, dragging himself away in a lurching moment of clarity.

It was sudden, and Alex's immediate response was to try desperately to draw him back into her embrace, the need to be close to him overwhelming as she leaned into him, sucking his lip eagerly between her own, even as he jerked back, gasping for breath and looking, for the entire world, like a man stricken with guilt.

"We can't," he muttered, shaking his head as he dislocated himself from her arms and stepped away; Alex noted the way his hand trembled as he ran it through his hair, saw the way his whole body shook as though fighting against the sensibility of his mind. "I'm sorry," he said, "we-"

"We can," she whispered, stepping forwards and reaching out for his hand, biting upon her lip. "We can, Gene... Please, I-"

"We can't..." he repeated, gulping hard as he shook his head once again, fighting with the desire to be near to her, and the horrifying knowledge that there was nothing he could offer her, that he wasn't good enough... "I'm too old..." He whispered angrily. "It's not- It ain't like before, Bols; you're barely even thirty!" His desperation for her to understand shone through his eyes as he looked at her, swallowing hard. "You've got a twelve year old daughter fer Christ's sake, and I'm wobbling around like a bloody pensioner on a pogo stick!"

"I don't care!" Alex whispered, shaking her head in protest as she reached towards him. "Molly won't care! Nobody will care, Gene, please, I can't lose you again! Nobody's going to care, nobody will-!"

"I bloody care!" He snapped, drawing away with a sharp movement and jabbing himself in the chest, waving his spare arm around, spitting in anger. "Christ, Bolly, d'you have any idea how long I waited around wantin' you to wake up from cuckoo land and kiss me? D'you know how many times I dreamt about it? It's been twenty six years, Alex! An' aside from the fact I'm seventy-two an' about as agile as the average spacker in a cheerleading squad, you're still thirty-four! You still look just the same as the day I shot you, Alex, and it's messing with my head!" He turned suddenly, striding into the kitchen without another word; Alex heard him open the cupboards, heard the slosh of liquid in a bottle as it splashed into the glass, heard him swallow hard, slam the cupboard door, then pour himself another glass.

When he finally came back, he didn't meet her eyes, staring down into his glass and speaking in a quiet, surprisingly vulnerable voice.

"I've watched you get old, Alex," he whispered, his voice quavering. "I've watched you lose weight; I've watched your hair go grey; I've watched you get wrinkles all over yer face... An' it never bothered me... 'cause you could still wake up, still be happy, still give me a chance..." He took a large swallow of whiskey, grimacing slightly and keeping his eyes averted. "An' now you're here it's like none of that ever happened- like that version of you didn't even exist an' I've pissed away twenty-six years waiting for some old bollucks that'd never happen..." He placed his second glass of the afternoon down on the table, then looked up into her hazel gaze, his blue eyes tortured and filled with hurt.

"It was bad enough thinkin' I was twelve years older than you, Bolly," he cracked, grimacing slightly, "but now I'm thirty-odd years senior, an' about as useful as a packet of condoms in a lesbian strip club." He reached into his pocket as he spoke, swiftly lighting up a cigarette and exhaling with a shaky breath.

Alex wanted to move, but she found herself frozen to the spot, incapable of anything but staring as he took drag after drag, a haze of smoke surrounding him as he seemed to fight against some great indecision; she wanted to talk, but her lips were sealed tight, and all she could do was watch, tears streaming down her cheeks as he remained silent, an oasis of calm, and yet somehow a tornado of anger in the very same moment.

Eventually, he looked back at her, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray and moving to stand in front of her, his eyes intense as his gaze fell upon her face. She stayed where she was, her jaw trembling, her hands shaking, and a moment later he'd gathered her in his arms, pulling her into his chest with desperation that was so far from his character that she gasped in surprise, feeling his lips on her forehead as he shook against her.

"You don't know what it's like, Bolly," he whispered, one hand in her hair as he closed his eyes to her scent. "You haven't changed; you're still as shaggable as the day I met you..." He stroked his fingers delicately down the back of her neck, caressing the soft, warm flesh with tender hesitance. "It's me that's changed... I'm too bloody old, Alex; I can't- I- you deserve more than a washed out old copper..."

"What if I want you?" She whispered, touching his cheek with the flat of her palm. He turned his head to the side, his face resigned and tired as he brushed his lips against her wrist.

"You don't," he said bluntly. "Or maybe you do now, but you won't always..." He drew back slightly, tentatively caressing her hair, as though afraid to completely sever the contact, his eyes intense on hers as he spoke. "One day you'll wake up to a bag o' wrinkles who pisses the bed an' spouts more shit than sense, an' you won't even be forty... You think I'm gunna put you through that, Bols, after all the other bollucks I did in the past?"

Alex shook her head desperately, grasping his wrist and holding his hand in hers; to her relief, he didn't pull it away. "I can handle it, Gene," she implored. "Please, don't let me lose you again! You have to understand me – you have to believe me... I should have said it before - all those times we were alone, and I never had the courage- but I'm telling you now, Gene, and I need you to believe me..." She stepped closer, dropping his hand and holding his face between her palms as she stood on tiptoe, gazing into his eyes; his face was lined with years of pain and turmoil, age etched into his skin and whittling his features to bare shadows of their former splendour... It didn't matter – not to her; if this was the only chance she had to find peace with Gene, she knew she would grasp it with both hands.

"You're a wonderful man..." she whispered, biting her lip slightly as it threatened to tremble, then abandoning the effort as she pressed her lips to his cheek, warm salty tears tracking down her face and onto his. "You're more wonderful than you know, and- and my biggest regret, Gene, is that I never told you in person before I left – that I never got to tell you... Never got to show you how much you mean to me, how special you are, how-"

"What d'you mean 'in person'?" Gene interrupted softly, frowning slightly against her, but not pulling away. "Did yer leave it in the fog on the mirror or somethin'? 'Cause I'll tell yer now I never got that message."

Alex pulled away, meeting his eyes in confusion. After a few moments of staring into his bemused eyes, it clicked.

"You never read it," she stated softly, tracing the unfamiliar lines of his face with the shaky fingers of her right hand, whilst the other stroked smoothly and adoringly through his hair.

"What?" Gene asked, frowning. "I ain't big on cryptic clues, Bolly, you should know that..."

"My letter," she answered swiftly, tightening the hand in his hair in an involuntary gesture of nervousness. "You never-? Even after you came here, you never read it- never looked for it?"

He gulped loudly, and Alex felt the hand in her own hair loosen slightly as he looked away, apparently uncomfortable. "Well, I- I looked..." he muttered. "I mean... I kinda- stumbled across it... Thought they were in yer desk, an' when they weren't there, I- I just- I found it- I didn't ever get round to readin' it... figured you hadn't left, so..." He trailed off, wetting his lips almost nervously as she drew back from him, not even trying to stop her as she headed over to the television, kneeling down to the level of the video player and lifting it up; she was met with a thick layer of dust, and four once-white envelopes... Only three of them had been opened; the uppermost of them was slightly off-centre, and looked to have been handled the most recently, although it was still dust-ridden.

Alex snatched it up without thinking, staring at it for several seconds before looking up into Gene's surprised, but, if Alex was correct, relieved gaze; apparently the action had only further confirmed her identity to him, and she couldn't help but feel reassured.

"You really never-?"

"You never gave it back," Gene muttered, shrugging. "Was bad enough I was snoopin' in yer flat, Bols- I wasn't gunna nick yer letters an' read 'em just 'cause you weren't 'ere."

Alex got shakily to her feet, staring at the envelope for a few moments, before holding it out to him, biting her lip. "Please read it," Alex whispered.

"You 'aven't left yet," he pointed out bluntly, pushing his hands in his pocket as if to stop himself touching it and looking away stubbornly. "I'm only meant to read it when you're gone..."

"I need to go and tell Evan I can't make it tonight," she replied softly, stepping closer and drawing his hand out of his pocket to press the letter into his palm. "He's still waiting outside for me."

Gene looked up then, pain and comprehension in his gaze as his eyes widened and he shook his head. "Alex, I can't give you what you want! I just-!"

Alex shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips and swallowing hard. "We can talk... later... soon... just- just don't send me away for good just yet." She pressed a swift, warm kiss to his cheek, and then headed for the door without a word; Gene watched her leave with a horrible ache in his chest, his mouth dry and throat coarse, before turning to the letter in his hand, and slitting open the long-sealed envelope with a nervous finger. Taking a harsh, grating breath, he drew out the neatly folded paper, and opened it up.

---

The script was familiar, and yet foreign all at the same time; her hand had always been neat and inexplicably posh, but within it he now found an odd sense of camaraderie, tracing the first line with the tip of a shaking finger before even daring to read the long-forbidden words – words, he realized, that he had long since accepted would always remain unknown, because that was what she'd wanted... His eyes scanned the paper without reading the words, noting the surprising brevity of her goodbye, and taking heart in the fact that she couldn't possibly have packed all of her angered opinions on his attitude and behaviours into the short, almost compact letter that she had written solely for him.

Breathing deeply, he sank onto the sofa, relaxing at the familiar sound of creaking springs, and settling back into the cushion before finally, with a deep, shaky breath, he began to read; as he did so, his heart clenched and unclenched repeatedly, but through it all he could sense her sincerity, her honesty, her genuine integrity... And although the words seemed haunting as they echoed across three decades of separation, he felt a huge, inexorable wave of comfort in the meaning they imbued, settling his churning stomach and causing his breathing to level out.

_Gene,_

_There are many things I could say to you, and yet somehow none of them do you justice; how do I begin to describe what exists between us, when I'm only just beginning to accept it myself? You've changed me, Gene – you've changed me more than I ever realized; you've shown me things that I'd forgotten, that I'd lost in the midst of marriage, children and divorce, and I will never truly be able to show you how much it meant to me. You've shown me the passion for policing that's been lost by so many, and the zest for justice that's been sullied and marred by a lust for power and money, and loyalty to your team that is more admirable than any I have ever seen. I know you'll continue to be that same man, even when I'm gone..._

_But you know this; I'm sure you do. However much you deny it, I know you are a perceptive and intuitive man who notices more than a suspect's twitch or a nervous gulp; I'm sure you've realized how much I've changed. That's not why I'm writing this letter. If I have to say goodbye – and I'm certain that I do, whether now, or in one week, or in two – I want you to understand how I feel about you, with no restrictions, no barriers, and no fears; because the chances are that I will never get to see you again after you read this, and if I can't be honest when I have nothing left to fear from my existence within this place, then I will never be able to. _

_You are a wonderful, wonderful man, Gene; you are so much more than I could ever have imagined, and I've barely scratched the surface. I rely on you; I rely on you to help me through the day, but more than that, I trust you – I trust you with my life... And yet even more than that, I trust you with my heart; it's silly, really – by the time you've read this, I'll be so far away, and this whole place will cease to exist for me, and yet, somehow, whether it continues to exist or not, I think a piece of my heart will stay behind... with you._

_I wish I could be with you tonight – I wish I could show you without words how much I wish things could be different, but a part of me will always need my daughter; what pains me most, Gene, is that, now I've found you, a part of me will always long for you, just as I long for her...But while I have a choice, Gene, I must always choose my daughter –because she needs me, as much as I need her; and as much as it hurts me to leave you behind, all I can do is hope that you will understand why I have to leave you._

_Keep my heart safe, Gene._

_With all my love,_

_Your Bolly_

_x_

---

He stared at the paper for several minutes after he'd finished reading, allowing the words to sink into his system, even as he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs, the opening of the door, and the gentle tread of her feet muffled by carpet. He could feel her eyes on him, sense the nervousness in her gaze, and he looked up slowly, taking a moment to search her face for any hint of fear, of regret... If there was any, he missed it, and he tossed the letter gently onto the table, pressing his fist against his mouth for a few moments before he spoke.

"Y'know I wish you'd told me about this heart o' yours sooner, Bolly," he murmured eventually, meeting her eyes. "I'd 'ave stuck it in a box an' wrapped a ribbon around it..."

Alex stared at him, apparently bewildered, and then she smiled, the sight of it causing Gene's heart to twist in his chest; Christ, she was still gorgeous. He stood up slowly, his joints creaking slightly as he lifted himself to his feet and tried to straighten up; he needn't have bothered. A few seconds later she'd thrown her arms around him, her lips pressing to his cheek as he let out a grunt of pain, mixed with laughter, as he fell back down onto the seat he had just vacated with newly added weight.

"Bloody 'ell, Bolly," he grunted, grimacing as his body screamed in protest at the jarring contact. "Yer need to warn a bloke before you pounce on 'im like that – think you've cracked me coccyx!"

"Shit!" Alex gasped, moving as if to clamber off, "I'm sorry, Gene, I didn't think! I-!" She stopped talking, glancing down at him in confusion as he flexed both hands tentatively on her hips and held her in pace.

"What?" He asked, cringing slightly as his fingers clenched awkwardly against arthritic bones. "You aren't bloody movin' – you might break something else."

She smiled weakly, leaning forwards with hesitance as she rested her forehead gently against his. "I missed you," she told him honestly, stroking down his cheek with tentative fingers. "I didn't realize just how difficult it would be until I lost you..."

Gene waited a few moments, not trusting himself to speak, instead simply treasuring the warmth of her against him before sighing and pulling her tight into his arms; she shifted slightly, placing both legs on one side of him and curling them over the arm of the sofa, snuggling all too comfortably into his neck and keeping one arm across his shoulder – his shoulders went noticeably rigid, but the second she made to move away he drew her straight back, both of his arms wrapped firmly around her body as he leant to whisper in her ear.

"Y'know, you'll 'ave to miss me again tomorrow, Bols," he murmured, his eyes closed. He felt her eyes on his face, felt the confusion and the hurt in her gaze without having to look, and he grimaced at the knowing, twisting feeling in his gut that recognised the truth in his words.

"Gene," she protested, "I thought-!"

"I know," he said, opening his eyes and turning her face towards his so that they were inches apart. "D'you think this is easy fer me, Alex?" He shook his head, swallowing hard. "I've met nun's who were easier than this, Bolly, but I can't just un-live twenty six years of my life; I met you thirty years ago an' it's like it never happened!" His whisper was desperate and imploring, hands framing her face shakily as he swallowed and gulped painfully at the corrosive iron knot in his throat. "You've got a daughter, Bolly," he murmured, reiterating his point from earlier in the evening. "She needs a Dad; an' I ain't him."

"You could be," Alex whispered, grasping his hair in a tight fist; he didn't react, except to close his eyes and lean forwards to whisper quietly in her ear.

"No," he murmured softly. "I couldn't..." He felt her tense, could sense her about to argue, and he sighed, resting his head against hers and talking over her babbling. "It ain't up fer discussion," he told her, tightening his hold. "It's the real world out there, Bols," he said, wetting his mouth. "People don't like scummy old bastards hookin' up with the talent; you know what it's like Bolly- I don't fancy joinin' the perv parade."

She waited for a few moments, the magnitude of his words sinking in as she rested her face in his neck, breathing deeply; she understood what he was saying – of course she did – and she didn't blame him, but it didn't make it any easier. The idea of having found him, only to have him torn away all over again, caused tears to form in her eyes. But she knew what it would cost him to accept her; it was clear now how devoted he was, whether or not she was sixty or thirty years old, and she'd seen the aching pain in his eyes when he'd spoken about watching her age – she couldn't ask him to act as though none of that had happened to him, couldn't expect him to let her completely into his now drastically different life without question and forget the endless hours he had spent in the company of her sleeping alias.

She knew she couldn't ask it of him; he was far older than her now, whatever age he had been upon meeting her so long ago, and she knew he would never accept her attentions, no matter how deep it ran, whilst he thought she deserved better, whilst he thought she was too young to be with him... It would hurt him; it would hurt them both, and there was no point in denying it, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe her pain would be any greater than his – if she was honest with herself, she imagined his would be ten times worse; he'd waited twenty-six years to see her again, and the ramifications of that fact were so profound it made Alex's head spin. In hindsight, it made her few months of pain and longing seem like nothing but a grain of sand on a shore...

She had no right to grieve this loss; she hadn't truly earned it, as he had...

But his hand was in her hair, his arms were around her back, and all she could think was that she had finally found her place in life, that she had tasted the sweet tang of happiness only to have it ripped away from her like candy from a baby... She didn't know how she was going to come to terms with letting go of him this time.

Hesitance seeped from her body and into his before she managed to find the words she needed, her eyes clenching shut for fear of his rejection as she rested her head beside his, her whisper desperate in his ear. "Then just let me have tonight..." she said softly, her voice tinted with fear and emotion as she clung to him desperately.

Gene's discomfort was telling in the stiffness of his shoulders, the loud gulp that rose in his throat, but Alex said nothing, awaiting his reply as she breathed nervously against his ear, her fingers crossed and eyes clenched shut.

Gene swallowed, glancing down at her as she hid her face in his shoulder and feeling a horrible wave of loss at the idea of losing her, of finally knowing her and having her separated from him barely a moment later... In that moment, a thousand and one thoughts assaulted him, all of them questioning the sanity of giving into temptation, all of them telling him he should let her leave now, before she snared the rest of his heart and took it away with her... Not that it would make any difference now, he realized; she'd stolen what little remained of it the moment she'd kissed him, and he knew there was no taking it back again now.

"Ok," he whispered eventually, his voice weak, frail and pained. "Ok..."

Alex drew back to look at him, her hands framing his face as she combed through the thin locks of his hair, fingers tracing and memorising the contours of his face as she met his eyes...

He didn't say anything; neither did she.

---

**This was... difficult to write. I hope it's not too cringey, and that it comes across alright... depending how this goes down, I have a plan for the next chapter, and I'll aim to get it up before Friday with a bit of luck... if that fails, I can't make any promises as to when the update will be, as it will all depend on whether I can bear to write anymore lol.**

**Let me know what you thought! :)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	16. Like A Sack Of Potatoes

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback on the last chapter – I think I've replied to all the signed reviews, but a big thank you also to the anonymous ones – the support's really appreciated, so thank you guys :-)**

**---**

They stayed that way for a while, Alex curled into his chest and staring up into his eyes as she shook with anticipation, Gene stroking her hair with a trembling hand as his eyes tracked over every familiar and yet foreign feature of her face; despite having been seated at her bedside for years on end, he'd never really considered how much she'd changed before - he'd simply found new lines on her face, new streaks in her hair, and he'd taken them one by one... Now they were all gone, and the knowledge came like a sucker punch to the stomach at the realization that he could have spared himself the pain, could have lived a normal life if he'd just believed what she'd told him in the first place...

But sitting there on the sofa with her, it didn't matter; it felt inexplicably good to have her awake at his side, as though he had his old Bolly back, as if she'd never been away- at least not really... But it had changed; he realized that much as she toyed with the collar of his dark blue shirt, and as she gently stroked her hand down his shoulder and arm. He realized it as his hand found her waist and she moved into his touch, and the knowledge of that change was both terrifying and wonderful at once.

He'd missed her company for years – he'd have cut off every limb he possessed for this chance if it had been offered two days ago. He'd always thought one more night of this long-lost companionship would be heaven, but Christ! Now on top of that there was the feeling of her in his arms, the touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips... it was better than he'd ever dared to imagine, and he couldn't bear the thought of her leaving him in the morning, couldn't comprehend the idea of losing this closeness before it had even begun; how was he supposed to let her go, knowing he faced an endless number of years without her once this evening was over, once she left him alone again and he had to try to make it through?

He gathered her closer and shifted to lie lengthways on the sofa, taking her with him and treasuring the sigh of contentment that left her lips as she wrapped her arms around him. His heart rate trebled, and a smile tugged at his lips.

He had one more night of her company... and as much as it might feel like heaven now, he knew it was going to hurt like hell come morning.

----

"Do you want some music?" Alex whispered quietly a little while later, lifting her head up to meet his tired blue orbs and tracing his features with her eyes; his hair had flopped slightly into his face, and she watched as he brushed it away with one hand, nodding his head slightly as he did so, his other hand gently rubbing circles in the fabric of her shirt.

"Yeah," Gene murmured, jerking his head gently towards the box of records that had been in the corner for as long as he could remember. "They're over there in the-" He trailed off oddly as she slipped slowly from his embrace, stood up, and, showing no sign of hesitation, headed over to the large wooden box. He watched as she gathered the familiar box up, flicking through the old, fragile records with the practised ease of someone utterly comfortable with their surroundings...

Gene watched her carefully, wetting his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, before pulling himself slowly up from the sofa, accompanying the action with a quiet grunt before walking up behind her, not touching, but still close enough to feel the heat of her body.

"Good Lord!" He heard Alex murmur to herself, and he watched as she pulled one sleeve from the box and held it gently in her fingers. "I forgot I even had this- I haven't listened to it in forever!" She turned it over, smiling to herself, and Gene gulped slightly, stepping ever so slightly closer and resting his hand almost tentatively on the curve of her hip, eyes fixed on the familiar record that now resided in her hand.

"You have," he whispered softly into her ear, gulping as he swallowed against the large lump that formed in his throat on the brink of his admission. "I- I play it for you sometimes..." He wet his lips again, hoping she wouldn't turn and see the beads of nervous sweat that formed on his forehead before he went on. "At the hospital when I don't feel like talking much," he murmured, "I play you some o' that stuff..." He waited a few long and, in his opinion, awkward moments, before he teasingly finished off. "You've got some shit music by the way, Bols."

Alex laughed slightly, moving her head around to look at him as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the record in her hand. She smiled weakly, and then pointed questioningly at the record in her hand. "Do you mind if I-?"

Gene shook his head, his fingers trembling slightly as he tentatively stroked them down over the curve her hip. "Put it on," he said softly, still not meeting her eyes as he moved even closer, his breath on her neck.

Alex's movement was slow and languid, as though afraid to move herself too swiftly, but Gene didn't mind, watching with an odd, wistful look in his eyes as she drew the record from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable; there was something strangely mystical about watching her move, he realized. After so long sat with her unresponsive figure, the sight of her hands moving, and the sight of her lips twitching into a grin were the simplest and yet most beautiful pleasures of his existence; if he hadn't been worried about her noticing, he'd have stood there watching for hours more...

Once Alex had placed the needle down on the turntable, he watched as her hand stayed hesitantly in midair, shaking slightly as she seemed to fight against indecision that held no explanation; Gene reached for it instantly, and without question, wrapping his long fingers around her own and squeezing at the supple, soft hand that now resided in his as a wave of nostalgia washed over him.

His heart skipped slightly, his eyes closing briefly as he treasured once more the warm, apple-scent of her hair, the familiarity of her smaller, softer hand in his own, the gentle lull of her slightly hitched breathing...

"Gene," she whispered into the quiet. "I-"

"Shh," he murmured softly, listening as the music started to play quietly. "Just listen..." His voice was soft, grating, and Alex shivered against him, pressing back into his arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against her back sending tingles of delight racing down her spine. Her fingertips traced the frail, aged creases that covered his hand, tracking the contours and committing them to memory as he moved closer, resting his head gently against hers and sighing softly.

The music was soft, gentle, and relaxing; as Rod Stewarts voice reached Alex's ears, she was surprised at the low, gruff hum that sounded in Gene's throat, his hand dancing across her waist and hip, down slightly to brush the tops of her thighs, before the same arm slid warmly around her stomach, holding her gently and protectively as his lips moved tentatively to the soft flesh of her neck. Alex shivered, squeezing encouragingly at his hand as he trailed his mouth upwards, over her throat, up to her ear, across her cheek... The kisses he placed were tentative, nervous and tender, his lips barely brushing her flesh before he moved onward, upwards, barely tasting her skin at all, but covering every inch that was available to him with delicacy and warmth that set her alight.

"Gene..." her murmur was soft and warm, quavering in her throat as she reached behind her and tangled her spare hand in his hair, fingers threading into the soft locks and guiding his head across the plains of her skin, accompanying the tender caresses with gentle sighs.

"Missed you," Gene mumbled quietly, now tracing her jaw with his lips and squeezing her tightly around the waist, nervous of her response; he was relieved when he felt her smile, feeling the muscles of her face shift as she moved her head towards him, her next whisper brushing across his hair as he nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose.

"Missed you," she responded, her breath hitching as he sucked more intently on the flesh of her throat. "Gene, I-"

He interrupted, his voice gruff and yet soft all at once. "I'll miss you again..." It was a promise, she realized, and her heart clenched, feeling him wrap both arms around her, one of her hands still entwined with his. She trembled, her throat burned with grief, and a few moments later she was crying silently, the intensity of his tender embrace and the weight of the meaningful lyrics in her ears all too much for her to handle.

She let the music slow to a halt, let his hair and mouth tease her sensitive flesh for a few moments more, and then she spoke, grief and love sounding so profound within the words that she surprised even herself. "Gene," she whispered desperately, the hand in his hair tightening slightly as he nibbled softly at her ear. "Gene, please... please..."

He stopped his kisses, lifting his head and resting it against hers as he shook in a combination of fear, warmth, happiness and nervousness. "What is it?" He whispered, holding her tight, his eyes closed as he felt her own body tremble and quiver against his.

"Take me to bed, Gene," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks in large, fat droplets that fell from her chin and splashed to her neck. "If tonight's really all we have then- then please, please let me show you... I need you to know..."

He was silent, his arms still tight around her, goose-bumps breaking out across the surface of his flesh as he swallowed back against his unease, closing his eyes to the sound of her ragged breathing in an attempt to calm himself. "I'll let yer down," he whispered eventually, his voice cracking with hurt and self-contempt.

"No," Alex countered, shaking her head as she turned her face towards his, nose brushing her cheek. "You couldn't let me down, Gene... please..." she turned in his arms, cupping his face with her hands and biting down on her lower lip before she spoke again. "Let me say goodbye," she whispered pleadingly.

Gene's eyes were filled with indecision and nervousness, underlined with desire and fear so prominent that she could almost smell it. Her hand stroked down his cheek, rasping across stubble and teasing down his neck, before she leaned closer, her lips an inch from his.

"Tonight's our forever, isn't it?" Alex whispered, tears falling swiftly down her cheeks. "We won't- we won't find each other again?"

Gene gulped, lifting one hand to her cheek whilst the other slipped to her waist. "I don't-"

She cut him off, shaking her head and pressing a finger to his lips. "Please," she whispered. "I don't know how else to show you... I need you to understand, Gene... I need you to feel what I feel! I need you to understand..." She edged closer with every word, and within a moment she was kissing him, the tenderness and the warmth of her mouth making his head spin, causing him to freeze in surprise as she pushed her tongue softly against his lips.

"Trust me..." she whispered imploringly, not moving away, lips still brushing against his as she spoke.

Gene swallowed hard, his hands tight on her hips as she leaned into him again. He gulped; all of the times he'd thought of Alex in this situation, imagined it, longed for it, he'd never once needed convincing... But the fear in his gut twisted like a knot, clenching his inner muscles and wracking him with self-doubt; he didn't want to let her down. He'd wanted her for years, waited for longer than was healthy, and dreamt of this very moment over and over again...

"It'll be fine," she murmured against his mouth, sucking at his lower lip tentatively. "We'll be perfect, Gene," she told him, catching his mouth softly with her own. "I promise..."

He felt himself cave as her hands found his shirt and her lips caressed his, felt the terrifying, sickening fear as she wrapped herself eagerly in his embrace... But in her touch it became apparent that there was no hesitation, no fear on her part; she needed this as desperately as he did.

With a sigh, he threw caution to the wind, and allowed her to take him by the hand into the bedroom.

---

"Just- just stay awake with me, Bols... I don't wanna sleep..."

His voice broke through the semi-darkness of the late-afternoon, and Alex relaxed back into his arms, attempting to ignore the note of worry and agitation that edged into his tone as she turned around to face him.

"I'll stay awake," she promised softly, resting her cheek against his own and breathing the now-familiar and yet still exotic scent of his skin; she didn't think she would have ever got bored of it – a wave of grief passed over her as she realized she would never find out either way. His arms wrapped tight around her, and she slid one hand into his hair, allowing the other to wander over his shoulders and back in a delicate caress. His breathing was hitched and ragged as he cradled her head against him, the release of air from his lungs coming out as a shuddering gasp that made her press closer in a gesture of comfort. For a while, they remained silent, hands gently tracking over skin in a delicate, tentative effort to memorise every curve, every ridge, every scar...

They'd been through this already, she mused quietly to herself, pressing her lips to his collarbone. They'd already learnt everything – she'd made sure of that – and now it was simply a conscious effort to never allow herself to forget.

She already knew each line of his face; she knew the point on his scalp where his hair began to recede, revealing a small white scar when his fringe was pushed back out of his eyes; she knew the tiny freckle between his shoulder blades that was just off-centre, positioned ever so slightly further to the right; she knew that if she pressed just below his abdomen, where he was unusually sensitive, he would let out a soft whimper that sounded uncannily like childish laughter.

She knew him more intimately than she had ever thought possible... But that still didn't change the fact that it would never be enough to quench her thirst for him.

"It wasn't what you expected, was it?" Gene murmured eventually, touching his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss.

Alex frowned, drawing slightly away to look up, enabling herself to meet his blue eyes with her hazel ones; his face gave no sign of anything, but the eyes themselves were filled with a sadness that she couldn't comprehend. "What do you mean?" she whispered, one hand caressing his cheek as she frowned continually to herself.

"This... us... it wasn't what you thought it'd be, was it?" His voice was shallow, and his eyes turned away as he spoke, his hands tightening on her back. Alex blinked, her hand freezing in place for a few moments of confused silence, before she shifted slightly, turning his face towards hers and pressing her lips to the rough, weathered skin of his cheek.

"What did I think it would be, exactly?" She asked teasingly, resting their foreheads together.

Gene shrugged uncomfortably, lifting one hand to the back of his neck and scratching awkwardly as he kept his eyes averted. "I- I dunno..." he gulped. "I thought it'd be- better..." he trailed off hopelessly, rolling away from her and onto his back with a loud, despondent sigh. Alex waited only a few moments before following his movement, her body easily aligned with his.

"How could it have been better?" Alex whispered, reaching for his hand and pressing a kiss to the tender, slightly inflamed skin. "It was life-changing, Gene; it was-"

"You spent half of it howlin' like a bloody thunderstorm, Alex," Gene retorted, growling slightly in his throat as his shoulders tensed in agitation. "An' considerin' how short-lived the damn thing was I don't blame you, either!"

Alex blinked, lifting herself up to a sitting position beside his head; Gene made no movement, gave no sign that he'd even noticed, and she sighed, sliding her hand into his hair and shaking her head in hopeless amusement. "Were you expecting fireworks to burst over our heads and shake the bed from side to side?" she grinned, wetting her mouth and watching as his lips twitched in amusement, despite the slight frustration that edged into his gaze.

"Would've been nice," he conceded, slipping his hand across hers in apparent concession and sighing softly to himself. "That, or a stripper-choir leapin' out of the wardrobe singing 'hallelujah'..." A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth, and he brought her young, delicate hand to his mouth, his tired blue eyes fluttering closed for a few moments. "I just thought- well – well, it wasn't exactly a long experience..." he turned his eyes away again, and Alex half smiled, slipping down to his level and pressing her lips to his forehead.

"Felt pretty long to me," Alex smiled wickedly, settling back against his body. "In fact, it was-"

"Bolly," he grunted softly, gulping hard. "I'm too old fer you to be talkin' about me length... I only just finished."

She laughed, wrapping her arm around his chest and smiling warmly up at him. "Sorry," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing in contentment. After a few moments of quiet she spoke again, her voice tentative and gentle. "It was wonderful, Gene," she whispered honestly, moving her mouth to his neck and smiling against his skin. "It was perfect..."

And she wasn't lying; it hadn't been the passion-fuelled adventure of one another's bodies that she had at first expected – she'd thought he'd have been fast, desperate, urging... Instead he'd let her take the lead, responding to her touches with soft sighs and groans; they'd spent what felt like forever learning one another intimately, and when it had finally happened, she'd been so overwhelmed with the emotion that burned in his eyes, and the tenderness that spread from his fingertips and into her skin, that she'd felt herself trembling, tears sliding from her eyes and splashing down onto his face as he had whispered desperately to her over and over and over; "You found me..."

Alex felt his ragged sigh of relief at her whispered reply, and a moment later his arm squeezed around her shoulders, holding her in place against him as he turned his face towards hers. His hand tracked down her cheek and neck, pressing gently against her skin and eliciting a gentle smile of genuine contentment.

"I think I just fell several notches deeper in love with you," Alex whispered softly, cupping his face in her hand and biting down on her lip at the look of surprise and nervousness in his eyes; she wasn't concerned, or surprised.

Unbidden, the three little words that she'd known should remain unsaid that evening had fallen from her lips after they'd finished, just at the same moment that he'd pulled the duvet up over their still trembling bodies. He'd said nothing, simply drawing her against him and pressing his lips against her forehead, his body quaking slightly; after a few moments, he'd tugged the duvet tighter, drew her ever closer, and although she knew he wasn't cold, she pretended to believe him, embracing him tenderly as he remained quiet.

Now he looked away, swallowing hard and running his fingers up over the flesh of her upper-arm. She didn't press him; instead she closed her eyes, hand dancing over his bare chest and shoulders as she waited. She was more than surprised when he broke it only a few moments later, his gruff voice soft as he held her close against him.

"Don't think I fell," he murmured quietly, voice slightly dry. "Think you hit me over the head an' I dropped like a sack of potatoes..."

Alex frowned, lifting her head slightly and unable to resist the chance to tease him, even as the weight of his admission pressed down upon her. "I hit you?" she asked, confused. "You like me because I _hit _you?"

"Twice," Gene said, stroking her hair as he spoke, half smiling to himself. "You always did look good in leather..."

Grinning despite herself, Alex shook her head, brushing a rebellious lock of hair out of his eyes and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "I'm not wearing any leather now..." she pointed out.

Gene chuckled, resting his head back on the pillow and grimacing for a moment as his hand cramped with arthritis. "Nah," he agreed a few moments later, sighing softly. "But truth be told, I've always preferred you out of it..."

"You've never seen me out of it before," Alex pointed out, grinning. His eyes danced, hand finding hers and bringing it to his lips as he let out a soft chuckle.

"That's what you think," he murmured. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he sat up and slipped from the bed, leaving Alex alone beneath the duvet as he searched for his clothes, tugging on his boxers and vest before glancing back at her, his hair ruffled into disarray as she looked at him appreciatively; she saw him gulp, watched as his hand flew to the back of his neck, then grinned quietly to herself as he reached for his cigarettes and lit one up.

"You know they lower your sperm count?" Alex teased, sitting up and allowing the duvet to fall to her waist. Gene's eyes fell briefly to her chest, and then lifted to meet her gaze again; there was a sad smile on his lips as he shrugged.

"Wouldn't worry about gettin' pregnant then," he murmured, walking forwards to settle on the end of the bed; Alex moved forwards, settling into the crook of his arm as he went on. "The amount I smoke, the sperm rate's gunna be lower than a hookers knickers at an underground party." He lifted the cigarette to his lips, exhaling gently before speaking again, his hand tracking lightly across her collarbone as he went.

"Thought we'd 'ave more time," he admitted softly. "Y'know? If you ever woke up I thought we'd 'ave years..." he swallowed hard, and the following sentence was even quieter, barely even audible. "Christ, Alex, I still want you to wake up..." The pain in his voice made her look up, and a moment later her hand was on his cheek, her eyes watering as she bit hard on her lip.

"Gene, I can't-"

"I know!" He snapped suddenly.

Alex didn't move away, although he felt her jump in shock, and he didn't miss the hurt in her eyes. A moment later he swallowed hard, drawing her against him and shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "It ain't your fault... I just- Christ, Alex! I've been waitin' so bloody long an' all I get is one night? I thought- I dunno what I thought... but this wasn't it, Bolly."

He stood up, heading out into the living room, and leaving a confused Alex on the bed.

---

When she joined him, Gene was sat drinking whiskey from the bottle. He looked up to find her clothed in his discarded shirt, which hung down to brush the middle of her thighs, and was unbuttoned to the chest; if he hadn't felt so shitty, he might have had the heart to compliment it. As it was he could only sigh, watching as she moved to settle herself on the arm of the sofa, her body turned slightly towards his, the curve of her breast showing slightly as she tentatively touched his shoulder. Gene managed a shaken smile, covering her hand with his and keeping his eyes firmly fized on her legs.

"I know you can't wake up, Bolly," he murmured quietly, swallowing hard in his throat. "I know that... I thought it'd be easier to know either way, but it ain't..." He took another swig before he dared go on. "What am I meant to do with myself, Alex? You'll swan off with yer daughter, marry some posh twonk with a spoon up his arse, an' I'll just stay 'ere like a bloody nonce!"

Alex's hand tightened on his shoulder, gently squeezing him through the fabric of his vest as she ran the other hand down his cheek and neck. "I don't know how this works, Gene," Alex whispered, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know if I could wake up again or not... I don't- I don't think I want to, but... But, Gene, I thought I'd lost you," she turned his face gently towards hers. "I thought I'd never hear your voice again, never see you, never tell you how I felt... But I did, Gene – I did... And I know it won't ever make up for how long you've waited, Gene, but I'll remember it forever..." Her voice cracked slightly, and she bit down on her lip as he turned his full gaze upon her, melting her insides with pools of blue so intense she felt herself quiver.

"I don't regret it," he said quietly, taking a swig of whiskey before going on. "I just-" He gulped, shaking his head again. "I just thought, if we ever got the chance, I'd get longer... y'know?"

Alex nodded, but didn't reply, allowing him to speak again and keeping her hand gently in his.

"Christ, Bolly," he murmured, placing the bottle on the table and resting his head in his now spare hand. "Thought I'd have ages... It ain't meant to be like this- you meet someone, you like 'em, you shag, you see 'em again... Ain't meant to be like this – it's meant to be... I dunno... slower...and faster... and- Christ, I don't even know, Bols."

Tears pricked at Alex's eyes, and without waiting to see his response she slipped into his lap, her arms going around his neck as she breathed deeply, mouth coming to rest against his ear. "I know," she murmured softly. "We missed a few steps- waited too long... lost time..." her sigh of remorse washed over him, and Gene's arms wound about her waist without hesitation, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as she combed her fingers once again through the threads of grey hair that had captivated her all night. "I know what you mean..." she murmured, eyes closed as tears leaked from their lids. "Half of the beauty of being in love's the journey, and it's like we've missed half of it out..."

Gene lifted his head slightly, his nose brushing her throat as he hummed his agreement. "Mmm..." he murmured, closing his eyes as he pushed her hair back from her throat. "The journey was pretty good anyway, though," he admitted, kissing the soft thump of her pulse and closing his eyes as she sighed against him.

"A little unconventional, though," Alex teased, stroking his strong back with gentle hands, aiming to reassure as he half-smiled against her.

He spoke softly, jokingly, and yet with underlying meaning standing out clearly. "If 'unconventional' is the twenty-seven year gap between our first fight and first kiss, Bolly, then yeah, we shoved convention up the arse of some old traditional bastard..." His eyes closed, arms tight around her back, and Alex relaxed welcomingly against him, her head resting lightly on top of his own as he paid particular attention to the hollow at the base of her throat.

"I should probably apologise to said 'old traditional bastard' then," Alex murmured. Gene glowered habitually as she repeated the familiar finger-waggle, his eyebrows knitting together as he drew back and looked up at her.

"D'you know, Bols, I do believe he died..." he said softly, hand on her arm as he grinned up at her. "Coronary failure or somethin' after 'aving that convention shoved up his arse..." He licked his lips. "Poor bugger..." he said unsympathetically, "Still, on the positive side, you can apologise to me instead..."

Alex laughed, shaking her head as he trailed off suggestively, leaning back into the cushions with a smile in his eyes. "You know, it might have been twenty-six years, but you haven't changed..."

"Glad you think so," he murmured, tangling his fingers in her hair. "But I ain't exactly a spring chicken these days, Bolly..."

Alex smiled, sliding swiftly from his lap and settling lengthways on the sofa, watching as Gene's grey eyebrows flew up into his hairline at the very plain view of her legs, and then tugging him gently down beside her. "Spring chickens are over-rated, Gene," she smiled, tucking her head into the crook of his arm as he settled at her side. "Besides," she went on, "I don't know any spring chicken that waits around for twenty-six years on an off-chance..."

"That's probably because most chickens don't live that long, Bols," Gene teased, holding her close. After a few moments, he added, almost as an afterthought, "an' stop makin' me sound like a poof; it's bad enough me knowin', but d'you 'ave to rub it in?"

Alex smiled, shaking her head and gently pressing her lips to his cheek. "Sorry..." she murmured, linking her fingers with his. "I just-..." she stopped, gulping hard, then turned away, as if unsure whether or not to finish.

"Just what?" Gene frowned, glancing down at her. "Bols?"

Alex waited, glancing up at him with indecision in her eyes, before sighing, shrugging her shoulders and wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Why did you stay, Gene?" She murmured, keeping her gaze on his as she spoke. "I don't get it... Why did you stick around?"

She saw Gene's fleeting frown of confusion as it flitted across his facial features, but before she had time to clarify anything and apologise for her hapless phrasing, he'd swallowed hard against the horrific lump in his throat and started to speak.

"Guilt," he said quietly. "About sayin' that stuff... about suspendin' you... about shaggin' Jenette an' then shootin' you instead of her... about-"

Alex frowned, sitting up instantly. "You slept with Jenette?" she asked. "I mean, you actually slept with Jenette? I didn't just dream it up?"

He grimaced, swallowing hard. "If it's any consolation, she was a poor substitute..."

"But you did actually kiss her? I didn't just- I mean, I thought I'd imagined it... I mean, I felt it, but I didn't realize what I felt, and-!"

"Bolly," Gene interrupted, shaking his head. "I know you got shot in the 'ead an' all, but could you try an' make sense? It's like listenin' to the ramblings of a depraved alcoholic." He rubbed her shoulder in an almost patronising manner, and Alex sighed, biting down on her lip for several indecisive moments, before apparently deciding against whatever mental argument she'd been rehearsing.

"Nevermind," she said eventually, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter... you were saying?"

Gene frowned slightly. "I was?" He asked, blinking dumbly.

"About why you stayed?" Alex said softly, settling back into his embrace and resting her arm across his chest.

Gene gulped, shivering slightly, and then looked over her shoulder to avoid meeting her eyes. "Guilt," he said again, his voice dry. A few moments passed, and then Alex felt his arms tighten ever so slightly once again, his breath hitching slightly in her ear. "An' I missed you..." he admitted softly. "Weren't the same when you'd popped off to cuckoo land an' I was left watchin' Ray shag some Italian up the duff..."

Alex resisted the urge to enquire further about Ray's fate, looking up into his face and stroking his cheek tentatively, trying to ease away the aged lines of anger that had ingrained themselves upon his visage.

"I don't blame you," she told him softly. "If- if that's worth anything, then please, believe me... You don't need to feel guilty."

"Don't I?" Gene murmured dryly. "I shot you, didn't believe you, an' then low an' behold all your crazy bollucks about the future turns out to be true? I'd be pissed if it was the other way round, Bols."

"No," Alex answered, resting her hand across his heart. "You sent me home, Gene; you sent me back to my daughter... And I found you again... Even if it was only for tonight, I found you again..." She kissed him warmly, softly, ignoring his hesitance as she whispered gently to him, lips easing over his with gentle confidence. "I could never regret anything that gave me both you and Molly, however short-lived it was; you know that now... at least I hope you do."

Gene nodded briefly, and then glanced around uncomfortably, apparently searching for a topic change to offload the difficulty of emotional admittance. When none arose, he glanced down at her with a quizzical look on his face.

"Fancy a cuppa?" He asked.

A moment later, without so much as awaiting a reply, he'd pressed a swift kiss to her lips and then pushed off the sofa, leaving her alone before passing swiftly into the kitchen; he didn't see the thoughtful look on her face as she touched her two fingers to her lips, and instead he could be heard whistling in the kitchen as he moved to put on the kettle.

----

**I'm ahead of schedule! Aren't you proud? :P**

**Hope it was alright, and thanks again for all of the positive feedback so far :D**

**Mage of the Heart**


	17. Someone Elses Me

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**I'm really sorry about the delay with this one- there was going to be a very awkward conversation, now there's just a slight awkward conversation, but basically it was awkward writing the awkward conversation so it made my writing... awkward :P**

**Hope it's alright though! Let me know!**

**---**

Gene sat the tea in front of her, settling himself at the other end of the sofa and running a hand idly through his hair, as though to distract himself from the sentiment of her earlier confession. Alex could only thank him, vaguely noting the fact he'd donned a green jumper and suit trousers, before she settled almost nervously back into the sofa, jumping slightly in surprise as it creaked beneath her.

Gene remained resolutely quiet, though a small smirk twitched at his lips when she let out an involuntary gasp at the sound of springs, before he reached for his own drink and swallowed a large gulp; watching him for a few moments, Alex saw that it was obviously too hot, since his eyes began to water, and he grimaced with blatant distaste. She smiled slightly to herself, eyes still fixated upon him, assessing the way his long fingers curled around the cup, and wondering how best to react to his sudden coolness.

Eventually, after several moments of indecision, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. "I know what's happened is impossible," she whispered quietly keeping her eyes on his face. "I know that, Gene, but I can't explain it... I- I want to... you know I do... But it did happen, Gene, and I don't regret it; I thought I would, but- I don't."

Gene simply sighed, drawing his hand away as he lifted the cup back up to his lips and nodded non-committally in response. "Yeah... ok..."

"Maybe I'm mad," Alex murmured softly, closing her hands around her own mug and feeling the heat from it seep into her fingertips. "Maybe this is just a ridiculous, post-traumatic thing," she went on, shrugging slightly, "but I hear you, Gene- I feel you, and I hear you talking to me...And when I was in eighty-two I felt you kiss her! I felt you kiss Jenette... before you shot me, in the middle of the night, I felt you kiss her. And I thought I was dreaming, but-!"

Gene stared at her blankly, his blue eyes openly confused, before he shook his head. "Christ, Bolly, you really are a fruitcake."

"No, I mean- you don't understand..." she took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly before she went on. "When I was in the corridor – you were holding my hand... I mean, the other me, the nineteen-eighty-two me – you were holding my hand and touching my wrist, and I could feel it when I was in the corridor, feel it like it was me... And when you kissed Jenette, I felt that, too. And if I lie in bed sometimes, I can hear you talking to me – the other me, I mean... Like the other week, I heard you say I was the only basket you had, and-"

"You bloody what?" He spluttered, looking utterly flabbergasted as his head snapped back round to look at her.

"You said that I-!"

"I know what I said!" Gene snapped back without thinking.

And he did know; he'd only said it once, but the conversation he'd had with Marian had been one of such poignancy that he remembered it with more clarity than almost any other day since the shooting. "But 'ow the bloody 'ell d'you know?" He asked, gulping. "You were so far gone into that coma I thought you'd buggered off to Pluto or something! That was- Christ, Bolly, that was before Chris an' Shaz's wedding!"

"But I heard you, Gene! I heard you, don't you see?"

The blank stretch of silence was answer enough, and it became quite apparent that Gene did not see, nor did he comprehend the magnitude of Alex's realization, as he simply swallowed another mouthful of coffee, grimacing, then shifting uncomfortably and stretching his painful legs for a moment. Alex tentatively moved across to join him, her whole body tense with agitation and nervousness as she hesitantly placed both of their cups on the coffee table, before resting her hand on his shoulder.

"You told me you thought we had a connection, Gene," she whispered, eyes fixed on his face, watching his facial muscles bunch together as he seemed to fight against some inner torment. She ignored it, gently kneading his shoulder with her fingers as she spoke again. "And we do... I didn't really leave you- you were still with me, Gene..." Her voice trailed off, and she simply stayed quiet, watching his face; he remained quiet, eyes downcast, and Alex was content simply to watch him, wondering what exactly he embodied that tied her so implicitly to him, that made him so important to her life... It wasn't normal, to hear somebody's words across twenty-six years... So why could she?

Gene glanced across at her as she watched him, seeing the thoughtful look in her eyes, idly noticing the way her hair had flopped into her eyes, and wondering how long she'd consent to sit there without spurting out whatever bizarre theory that was currently manifesting in her brain.

As if on cue, she leapt to her feet, and Gene sighed, leaning forwards and resting his head in his hands, his lips pushed into a slight pout as she began pacing in front of him, her elegant fingers tapping her chin thoughtfully. He watched with a sigh, half enjoying the view, half wondering whether she'd notice if he buggered off to make some food...

And then suddenly she turned to him, dropping to her knees and grabbing his hands in hers almost desperately; Gene blinked at her, surprised, then frowned worriedly as he recognised the look in her eyes...

It was that look she got when she was excited, when she had a hunch and she wanted to follow it up, whatever he insisted to the contrary... His instant reaction was to tell her no, and kiss her senseless so whatever thought it was never made the light of day... But the look in her eyes intrigued him – it had always intrigued him, however much he screamed blue-bloody murder at her - and he couldn't help but stay quiet as she squeezed his hand in hers once again.

"Gene, I hear things," she whispered, pressing her lips to one of his hands and cupping his cheek with hers. "I hear you talking to me from a hospital bed twenty-five years ago... I feel your breath on my face when you lean over and kiss my forehead, even though you're not in the room with me..."

Gene's eyes darkened, and she lifted herself up so that her face was less than an inch from his. "Gene, I know it's impossible to comprehend," Alex whispered. "But I'm telling you the truth... "

"Y'know, you really are a bloody nutter," Gene muttered almost affectionately, catching her wrist in his and holding it in place. "It doesn't even surprise me..."

Alex smiled tentatively, pressing her lips lightly to his before drawing away, her voice tentative as she spoke again. "Sam had it too," she whispered. "After he came back... He told me, Gene - he heard Ann-"

"Sam?" Gene spluttered with surprise, his face contorting at the very suggestion. "Tyler? Stupid, nancy, Man United supporting _poofter_, Sam _Tyler_?"

"You remember I told you we were from the future?" Alex whispered, squeezing gently at his hand and edging ever closer, her hand tightening in anticipation and excitement at his response. "Well, when Sam was let out of hospital, he sent me tapes about his coma – he told me all about you, Gene; he thought he'd made you all up..." She shook her head, licking her dry lips and swallowing hard. Gene said nothing, although Alex saw the shadow that darkened his features for a few moments, and instantly moved to soothe the pain behind his eyes.

"He didn't, Gene," she murmured, as though to reassure him of the concept. "You were as real to him as you are to me... He heard you and Annie, Gene; screaming after the op with Frank Morgan went wrong, begging him to help... When he spoke on his tapes he was empty, hollow, like he'd lost a part of himself and there was nothing left to replace it... He couldn't let go of Annie, or you, or the rest of the team..." She trailed off momentarily, mouth going dry for a moment before whispering imploringly.

"But he didn't _feel_ you, Gene!" She said. As if treasuring the touch itself, Alex immediately cupped his face, ignoring the look of utter bewilderment that spread across his lips as she pressed firm kisses to his cheeks. He didn't shy away, although the whispering caresses of her lips moved over his skin unreturned as he grimaced in disgust at the typically Gene thoughts racing through his mind.

"I should bloody hope not!" He growled. "He was a bloody bloke!"

Alex only laughed softly, shaking her head as she continued to gently move across his withered cheek with her soft, supple lips, whispering quietly against the warmth of his skin as her hand tangled into his blonde hair. "I need to understand," she said quietly between kisses. "I need to know why you mean so much, Gene... To Sam and to me..."

"Maybe you're just lucky," Gene drawled sarcastically, drawing her gently away from him and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Maybe you're mad, Bolly – I don't know; you're the psychologist, not me." His voice was level and weary, his face blank of expression, and Alex felt her heart clench.

Shaking her head sadly, Alex cupped his cheek, gently biting at her lower lip as she went on speaking. "Gene, I need you to help me... I can't live my life wondering what happened, if there was a meaning, if the reason I heard you talking was that I was meant to-!"

"I can't help you, Alex," he murmured sadly, turning his head slightly away to avoid the burning look of need in her eyes. "I wish I could, Bols, but I don't know anything more than you..." He broke off, voice uncertain, then a moment later he shook his head. "Look, let's just go back to bed, 'ey? Have a nap or something... Or we could-?"

"Just tell me what happened, Gene," she whispered. "After I left... after Sam left... I need to understand... please, I-"

"Sam didn't leave, Alex," Gene growled, his voice low. "Sam died. He ran to the tunnel, and he came straight back, and he was with us seven years, an' he died, so whatever bollucks you're spouting then just-!"

"He was here for three months, Gene," she told him softly, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue and swallowing slightly. "He came back from hospital, and he could hear you, Annie and the others screaming for him. He told me he couldn't stop the voices – no matter what he did, they wouldn't go away... and now I hear you Gene, but it's different, because- because it's more than just the same words over and over... I'm not hearing you yelling at me to wake up anymore, Gene, all I can hear is you- you-" She stopped, swallowing again and biting down on her lip to stop herself saying it, wondering how he'd react if she were to tell him honestly what she had thought... Because the Gene she heard wasn't him- he was sad, angry, guilty, heartbroken... but she couldn't very well tell him that, could she? At least not if he was anywhere near as touchy as he used to be...

"Me, what?" He asked, looking up into her eyes, breathing softly and levelly as he did so.

Alex gulped, opening her mouth slightly, and then closing it again, before shaking her head. "I don't know," she whispered softly. "Just- I don't know..."

"Well, that's bollucks," he muttered matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes away. "The day you don't have a very good idea is the day I get my balls chopped off and eaten by a band of rabid woodpeckers!"

Alex half-smiled, shaking her head and glancing down to avoid the searching look that burned in his eyes. "It doesn't matter," she murmured. "I just hear you talking, and it's- it's, different, that's all..."

"Oh bloody hell," he grumbled softly, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair. "That ain't ever good – 'different' is what birds say when yer twist their legs in ways they didn't know existed an' don't like it. Or what yer Mam says when yer feed 'er curry an' she gets the shits fer a week..."

"It's not a bad, different," Alex assured him, smiling weakly at the welcome familiarity of his character, and the sudden shift into his former joking demeanour. "It's just... strange, I suppose."

"That's just as bad," Gene murmured, gently slipping his hands beneath her armpits and lifting her with a grunt onto the sofa beside him. She didn't settle back against the sofa as he half expected, but instead moved into the crook of his arm, her hand on his chest and nose buried in his jumper. He said nothing, simply wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding her quietly, conscious of the indecision on her face, and the slight tremble that shook through her body, as though she were holding back tears or sobs.

For a moment, she didn't know what to say; she was desperate to find out what had happened, to understand what made him such a huge part of her life, to know what connected them so intimately... But she wanted him to know, thought that he needed to know, for no real reason, other than that he was asking, and she couldn't simply hold in the knowledge of his pain without aiding him through it...

"You were sad," she whispered eventually, her face not moving from his chest, nose still pushed into his top and eyes clenched tightly shut. "You were lonely... You weren't- you weren't _you_ anymore..."

Gene swallowed hard, his head turned slightly away, even as he felt her silent tears track down her cheeks and soak through the fabric of his jumper. He waited a few moments, his heart hammering before he spoke.

"I was me," he said after a few long moments, his throat dry, voice cracking slightly. "I just – I wasn't the _me _that you knew... I was someone else's me..."

Alex glanced up at him, the frown on her face evident as she cupped his cheek and turned his face round to look at her. "Sam's you, then?" She asked quietly, thumbing the lines of his face tenderly and affectionately as he rested his head gently against her own, his eyes closed as he slowly shook his head in the negative.

"No," he murmured, breath teasing across her cheek as his lips went dry and eyes stung bitterly. "I mean... I was _your_ me," he swallowed slightly at the admission before adding, "I was your me, but- but I didn't 'ave you..." His hand found her hair, lips pressing gently against her forehead, and he spoke quietly into her skin, his breathing shallow and uneven, ignoring the way she tried to lift her head to talk to him, and the fact he could feel her smile against his shoulder.

"Maybe I'm a poofter, Bols," he went on softly after a few moments, "but it weren't the same after you popped yer clogs and went to lala-land."

She sighed, lifting her head slightly and smiling. "But I didn't die," she pointed out softly, her arm slipping around his neck and tightening slightly as she pressed her lips to his withered cheek. "Just had a bit of a long nap, that's all..."

He smiled at that, tugging her slightly tighter and shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Well don't make a habit of it," he told her quietly. "If I hear you've gone off for another kip in Sickville I'll string you up by yer knicker elastics and slap you round the face with a leather slipper!"

Alex smiled, resting her head on his shoulder and rubbing his chest softly with one hand. "I won't," she promised, grinning to herself. "Although I can think of more agreeable ways to be woken up..." She looked up at him, eyebrows raised suggestively, and he sighed, rolling his eyes and pressing dry lips to her soft brown hair.

"You're a tart," he smirked affectionately. "Only interested in gettin' me out of me particulars..." With a teasing grin, he twined a long lock of hair around his fingers, smiling as she laughed up at him.

"I'm not just interested in that," she told him. "But I waited long enough to do it..." Her smile was flirtatious and playful, but Gene's face stiffened slightly as he nodded, jaw clenched.

"Not as long as I did..." Gene pointed out; Alex was certain it was intended to be playful, but his eyes darkened sadly, flashing with bitter longing and pain as his arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, his jaw twitching; a stab in her stomach that strongly resembled guilt shot through her, and she hesitated, swallowing slightly and watching as his face went tight with some unreadable emotion, before opening her mouth apologise... Before she managed it, he had grimaced, shaking his head and pressing an apologetic kiss to her cheek. "Sorry," he muttered quietly, gulping. "What were you saying about my particulars?"

Alex sighed softly, edging closer and settling more comfortably against him, a small smile on her lips. "Just telling you I'm ready whenever you are, that's all," she informed him, rubbing his chest gently.

"Easy for you to say," Gene muttered darkly. "You're thirty-something and randy as a rabbit in heat – I've seen about as much action in twenty-six years as a fat, Nazi lesbian in a Jewish temple!"

"Delightful," Alex drawled, rolling her eyes in sardonic amusement. "Nice to see that you haven't lost your skill with metaphors..."

"I've had thirty years to think up good ones, Bols," he smirked. "You should 'ear the one about funny tasting fudge – if I hadn't had the shits at the time, I'd 'ave pissed myself laughing." He chuckled at the look of disgust on her face, dislocating himself from her briefly to reach into his trousers for his cigarettes; the moment it was lit, Alex surprised him by moving straight back into the circle of his arms.

"Thought you said passive smoking killed?" He murmured questioningly, exhaling deliberately away from her before looking down into her peacefully schooled face.

"Mmm," Alex murmured, resting her chin on his shoulder and looking up into his blue eyes with a sigh. "But for one night I think I can handle it." She smiled warmly up at him, then moved forwards, gently capturing his lips with hers before pulling away; he said nothing, his eyes searching and warm, before he took another drag on his cigarette and wrapped her tighter in his arms.

They remained that way for a while, Alex's head resting easily on his shoulder, one arm slung across his waist, the other hand remaining tangled in his hair. He held her in one arm, smoking quietly with the other, before eventually he stubbed it out, flicking the end with practised ease into the bin next to the television, then moving to embrace her more tightly, both arms enveloping her.

For several minutes, they were quiet, each silently contemplating the grains of time that passed them by, treasuring each moment of the silent, poignant embrace, and searching in vain for an excuse to postpone the inevitable separation that was destined to occur the next morning; the clock silently struck seven, and Alex's heart hammered violently in her chest at the realisation that another precious hour was beginning to pass them by...

But it was early evening, she told herself – the night hadn't even begun, despite the darkness that had descended on the outside world with the cool embrace of winter; they still had the whole night, and a whole morning... And yet the seconds were slipping by, and despite logic that said time had not passed any faster than before, she could only watch with dread as the minute hand struck one, as her arms tightened around him and held on desperately for a reprieve... But none came.

"You said you heard me," Gene murmured after a while, his voice soft and gruff, echoing from his chest and rising in his throat as a reassuring rumble. Alex turned her head up towards his and saw the questioning look he gave her as he went on. "What did you hear?"

She watched him for several seconds, taking in the curious look that burned in his eyes, and feeling her lip tremble as he swallowed hard against an invisible lump in his throat. "Everything," she murmured softly, smiling to herself. "And nothing..." His frown was a picture, and Alex smiled, feeling the muscles of her cheeks pull slightly as she shook her head. "Just you... It was all just you... And not you, at the same time..."

He waited a few moments, his eyes slightly narrowed, before suddenly he cupped her cheek, surprising her as he pressed a gentle, tender kiss to her trembling lips. "I'm not me without you anymore, Alex," he whispered, his eyes closed now as he rested his head on hers. "Tried denyin' it an' it came right back an' bit me in the todger..." He was silent, and she didn't pressure him to speak, unable to find any words herself that would express the magnitude of his admission, or the depth of meaning it truly held for her.

"Jenette was a mistake," he said eventually, swallowing hard. "I ain't sayin' you were Mother Theresa that night or anythin', but I shouldn' 'ave shagged 'er..."

Alex shifted slightly, lifting both hands to his cheeks and drawing his face towards hers, lips barely a millimetre apart when she stopped, whispering softly and quietly to him as she did so. "We both said and did things, Gene," she whispered, sniffing slightly as he tangled his hand almost desperately in her hair. "But it was a long time ago... so long ago..." She swallowed slightly, a single tear trickling from her eye before she spoke again, voice pleading and desperate. "Please, just- just let's forget about it now... I can't bear the thought of you being angry with me anymore, I just-!"

"I haven't been angry with you since that morning, Bols," he murmured softly, reassuringly. "I had no right to be... not when you were conked out in a hospital bed with my bullet in yer gut... Just angry with myself for not letting you talk..." He hesitated a moment, and then moved forwards, kissing her sweetly, his mouth warm and hard, soft and hesitant against hers, before he pulled back just as quickly as he'd begun, his eyes scanning her face for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he added, voice slightly strained with emotion and pain. "I know you don't regret it, but shootin' you was the worst thing I ever did."

Alex could only nod, pressing her mouth to his once more; he let her linger for a few moments before drawing slightly away, stroking her hair and breathing heavily as he opened and closed his mouth in evident indecision. The silence was comfortable, and she made no move to pressure him, simply settling into his hold and watching his face with a tenderness he wouldn't have believed possible.

"When you hear me," he murmured quietly after a few moments, wetting his lips with his tongue, "what do I say?"

She frowned, blinking slightly, and then shaking her head in bewilderment. "Anything- lots of things... You just talk..." She bit her lip almost nervously, and then added, "It's nice, y'know..."

"What is?" Gene murmured, eyebrows knitting together.

"You," Alex said simply, smiling. "You're very open with a shell, Gene..." her hand cupped his cheek and she blinked slowly up at him.

Gene shook his head. "You were never a shell," he murmured quietly, swallowing slightly, before apparently deciding to change the mood. "I mean, even conked out you 'ave more brains than Chris an' Ray put together..."

Alex smiled, stroking through his hair with her fingers. "Either way," she whispered, "I liked it... It was like being back with you – just for a few seconds of the day, even though I couldn't see you..."

His eyes saddened noticeably, and he drew her tight into his chest, lips in her hair as he breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and stroking long fingers down her warm cheek. He mumbled something incoherent, and felt her frown against him before she spoke questioningly, evidently baffled as she tried to draw back and look at him; he held her in place, simply treasuring the warmth of her body and the movement of her facial muscles beneath his fingers, and breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't insist upon pulling away.

"What did you say?" She asked quietly, covering his hand with hers and pressing a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat as she awaited his response.

"Said I'm jealous," he murmured, his voice equally as quiet as his lips barely parted to allow the words past. "Could see yer, touch yer... you weren't bloody there though - not really... I mean- it didn't feel like it sometimes... You were there, an' I thought maybe you could 'ear me, but-"

"But it wasn't the same," Alex concluded, nodding quietly. He was right; it wasn't the same. However much she closed her eyes and prayed, he was never there when she opened them again... She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to see him but receive no response...

"I know..." she said, taking a deep breath. "Sometimes I can feel you, hear you, smell you... but I can't see you... You're leaning over me, and I can smell your breath, feel it on my face, hear you talking, but- but you're not there- and-and I-" Suddenly the tears came, and Gene's arms tightened around her in a second, lips to her forehead as she clung to him almost desperately, her body shaking with the force of her sobs as her tears rolled fast and unchecked down her cheeks.

"I know," he whispered softly, large hands rubbing gently into her back, easing the knots from her shoulders and pressing into her skin. "I know, Bols..." his voice was soft and warm in her ears, and she pressed closer to him, trembling and shaking as her back quivered with shaking sobs of grief. "Me too..."

"I'm sorry," she cried softly. "I'm sorry I left you... I wanted to say goodbye Gene, I wanted to tell you, and- and I never- I never got to, and you had to wait... I'm so sorry you had to wait..."

"Shut up, yer daft cow," Gene murmured, affectionately pressing a soft kiss to her ear as his hand rubbed gently at her back. "You blub more than a bent veggie at a steakhouse..." He paused for a moment, glancing down at her tearstained cheeks before adding, with a failed attempt to conceal a grin, "and you're twice as loud."

She made a snorting noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then drew back to wipe her streaming eyes on the sleeve of the shirt she'd wrapped around herself. Gene watched her almost carefully, and then gently pressed a kiss to her forehead, sighing softly against her skin.

"I know," he said again after a few moments, his voice soft. "Used to look at you, hold yer hand, talk to you... but yer never spoke back..." A thoughtful frown crossed his features, and then he added, "Actually Bolly, it was pretty much like normal, now I think about it..."

She smiled, sniffling slightly as she rested her head on his shoulder, hand moulded to his cheek. "Don't know why you're complaining then," she teased half-heartedly, lips brushing his neck, feeling him swallow hard before turning his face towards hers, lips tugged into a small smirk as he answered.

"The no talkin' I could handle Bols," he murmured quietly, "it was the failure to wiggle your pert little buttocks in my face that bothered me." He avoided her playful slap, catching her wrist in his hand and pressing his lips to her pulse, smiling when she bit down on her lip and slid her other hand into his hair.

"I'll make it up to you," she promised, resting her forehead against his cheek and sighing at the welcome scent of him as it twined itself into her nostrils and etched itself into her sinuses until she was absolutely consumed by him.

"Really?" Gene asked, grinning. "Sounds like I'm on a promise there, love," he teased.

"Maybe you are," she replied without missing a beat. "If you're up for it of course..."

His eyes narrowed, and he surprised her suddenly by tugging her into his lap, his arms resting firmly across her stomach and pinning her down as he smirked at her. "Challenge?" He queried.

"Taker?" Alex quipped, eyes dancing with mirth. Gene chuckled, wetting his lips slightly as she brought her hand back up to stroke across his face, her eyebrows raised almost flirtatiously as he leaned closer.

"Tart." He murmured; she closed the distance between them a moment later, taking his lips gently and holding his head against hers to stop him drawing back... He didn't try. After a few moments of gentle caresses against his mouth, Alex spoke softly, barely moving her lips away as she did so.

"Did I do this when I was asleep?" She grinned, voice teasing as he tangled a finger in her hair and nodded his head with a joking smile.

"Oh yeah," he murmured sarcastically, "all the time... it was like making out with a dead fish, Bols; floppy, wet, and smelling like a salmons back entr-!"

She shoved him in the chest, laughing when he let out a soft grunt. "You're revolting!" She said, shaking her head in vague disbelief.

Gene managed a small smile, lips twitching slightly before he slipped his hand into her hair, face falling into a mask of solemnity as he tilted his head to look at her. Alex watched him in confusion for several moments, seeing the sadness fill his eyes and feeling his body tense; she sat up slightly and rested her hand gently on his shoulder, concern evident on her features.

"Gene, are you-?"

"We could've had a year of this, Bols," he murmured, eyebrows scrunching slightly together as he traced her face with long, frail fingers. He seemed to watch her carefully, his previously dull blue eyes glinting with sudden flirtation as he moved to correct himself, his gruff tone taking on a playful edge that made her heart hammer with joy. "Well, maybe not exactly this," he conceded, grinning slightly and glancing suggestively in the direction of the bedroom. "But y'know what I mean..."

She smiled sadly, nodding and pressing her lips to the tip of his nose. "Yes... I know..." She waited a few moments, watching with a smile as his hair flopped into his face, eyes warm on hers, filled with a mixture of pain and longing that she knew was echoed in her own gaze.

For a few minutes no words were spoken; Gene's hand remained tangled in her hair, his eyes fixed intently upon her own, and Alex was lost in the familiar and yet somehow foreign pools of blue shining back at her, filled with emotions she'd very rarely dared to imagine on Gene's face, that turned her stomach into a molten pool of goo.

"Alex," he whispered eventually, his voice cracking through the silence. "What was it like?"

She frowned slightly, her brow furrowing as she queried him, confusion evident in her expression. "What was what like?" She asked, sitting up straighter and running his hair through her fingers.

He seemed hesitant, the question burning on his lips but refusing to leave, and Alex waited with an air of patience, despite the unease and anticipation building in her stomach at the sight of him so closed off and reluctant, even by his standards.

"Sleeping that long," he said eventually, looking her in the eyes. "Was it-? Did it feel like a long time?"

Alex shook her head slowly, kissing his forehead with soft lips before she spoke. "I didn't notice Gene... it just felt like I went to sleep with you in front of me, and woke up the next morning, twenty-six years in the future..."

"You don't remember it then?" He asked. "The sleep?" His voice sounded distant, almost pained, and she tilted his head round towards her a second later, shaking her head sadly as she rested her forehead against his own.

"I just blinked," she whispered softly. "I blinked, and a moment later, I'd lost you..." Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden, and she let them fall, feeling Gene draw her tighter to him in a sudden movement as he rested his head on her shoulder, forehead pressed against her neck as his breath teased the flesh of her throat and chest.

"I missed you," he mumbled, face buried in her neck. "I missed you fer twenty-six years before you even realised you'd left..."

"I know..." Alex whispered, voice barely above a whisper, straining to hold back tears as she buried her fingers in his hair. "I'm sorry, Gene... If I could- if I could have known this would happen before I came home, I would have told you, I'd have warned you... I'm sorry, Gene, I'm so, so sorry..."

"Don't be," he said softly, lifting his head slightly, just enough to press his lips to the base of her throat, exhaling his breath in a withering, shaken rasp before he added; "You were worth the wait."

He felt her surprise as she stiffened in his arms, felt the muscles of her neck bunch slightly as she twisted to look at him, and with a heavy sigh he looked up, his aged face looking worn and tired as he blinked wearily into her eyes.

She said nothing, her own eyes blurring with tears, and a moment later she'd pressed her lips to his, the kiss demanding and urgent as she pushed him back against the sofa. He let out a grunt of pain, his hands tight on her waist, but he didn't stop her, responding as fervently and desperately as he could, tasting the salt of her tears and wondering how many more years he'd wait for another chance at this small, tantalising taste of heaven... And as she stroked her hands through his hair, tugging his face towards hers and opening her mouth to his, he realised that it would be worth waiting forever.

---

**The end....**

**Nah, it's not lol, only kidding you.**

**Hope it was ok... sorry for the delay once again! Hopefully won't take so long for the next update with any luck lol!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	18. A Chance To Love You

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**... Some references that aren't exactly innocent, but definitely nothing explicit (still T!) but if anyone thinks the rating needs upping a little bit to be on the safe side, let me know! :)**

* * *

They broke apart a while later, interrupted by the loud rumbling growl of Gene's stomach, promptly sending Alex into a fit of giggles that didn't pass by until he'd kissed her thoroughly once again. A few moments later, when she'd calmed herself enough to stop trembling with laughter, he reached with a grunt for the telephone, placing the receiver on the table and punching in a familiar number with one hand, whilst the other arm remained firmly around Alex's shoulders, rubbing gentle patterns into her arm and back as the dialling tone sounded in his ear.

"Italian alright?" He asked, glancing down at her suddenly, as though he'd just considered her presence for the first time; Alex nodded, half smiling with the familiarity, then settled back into his hold, head resting gently on his shoulder. She listened as he ordered two pizzas and a spaghetti Bolognese, muttered something under his breath that sounded alot like 'useless tosser', then placed the phone down, both arms snaking back around her as his lips found her hair.

"It'll be here in half an hour," he told her, grunting slightly as he shifted his body and his leg jarred with pain. Alex concealed her worry, simply moving to settle less dependently against him; if he noticed, he said nothing, simply following her movement and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, even as she began to speak.

"We could've cooked you know," she said softly, toying with the hem of his jumper and looking up into his blue eyes with a tentative smile.

"Not with any of the stuff in that kitchen we couldn't," Gene muttered, ruffling her hair gently. "I've got about as much food in there as a dead tramp in Africa; you're better off eating take-out." He kissed her gently, and then tenderly eased her off him for a moment, getting to his feet and stretching awkwardly. "Drink?" He asked, rasping his fingernails against the stubble that was scattered over his cheek and swallowing slightly as he did so. Without thinking, Alex jumped to her feet.

"I'll get it," she said, moving towards the kitchen with an air of familiarity. "What do you fancy? Whiskey? Tea? Wine? Maybe-?"

"Bols, I'm old," Gene growled, almost angrily; "but I ain't dead. I can get a bloody glass out of the cupboard."

Alex bit her lip, half-embarrassed, half in thought, trying to figure out a reasonable excuse for rushing to his aid that wouldn't insult him and drawing a complete blank. So instead, she said nothing, stepping forwards and wrapping her arms around his waist. He balked slightly in surprise, confusion evident as his torso went rigid, but a few moments later he enveloped her again, lips on her forehead as he rolled his eyes. "You need a drink," he told her softly, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head as she pressed her face into the warm skin of his neck.

"Sorry," she mumbled softly, ignoring his latest comment and sniffing quietly. "I didn't mean to- I just wanted to help, that was all..."

"Mmm," Gene murmured, stroking her back with his long fingers. "I know, Bolly." His breath gently teased through her hair for a few moments, and then he sighed, reaching down for her hand and leading her towards the kitchen without another word.

Alex kept the silence in turn, simply returning the pressure on his hand and watching as he found two wine glasses, pouring both of them a large amount of red, whilst keeping his other hand firmly wrapped around hers. Alex accepted the drink silently, resting her head on his shoulder and feeling him tense slightly, before he downed his own in one long draught. She bit back a snort of laughter, settling for taking a small sip of her own drink before daring to say anything, feeling his throat muscles move as he swallowed, and wondering vaguely to herself about what he was thinking.

"Stop it," he muttered quietly, pouring himself another glass and swirling it smoothly as he glanced down at her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked up at him in baffled confusion.

"Stop what?" She asked, frowning. "I didn't do anything!"

"You were thinking," he said, taking a large gulp of his drink without averting his eyes. "And with you, that's always a bad sign."

Alex rolled her eyes, sipping at her wine and shaking her head. "I was just enjoying your company," she answered. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No," Gene said softly, "I'd just like you to stop thinking while you're at it..." The additional answer was teasing, and his lips found the base of her neck for a few moments before she placed her glass back on the side, hand in his hair and a small grin on her face. Gene followed suit, placing his glass next to hers and tugging her tighter against him with a soft groan that was etched with a combination of pain and contentment. Alex vaguely registered his muttered cursing of "bloody arthritis!" before she wrapped her arms around him, lips on his head as he pushed her gently against the counter.

"Gene..." she sighed quietly, pushing back his hair and pressing soft kisses to his scalp. "Do you want to sit down?" she murmured, feeling his mouth grow more insistent as a fresh wave of pain shot through him and his arms tightened once again.

"No," he muttered, drawing back to rest his forehead against her own. "What I really want is twenty-six years of my life back so I can stand up without me legs buckling..." his lips pressed tenderly into her skin before he added, in a soft undertone that showed his reluctance to share the information, "but now you mention it, I've got more pins an' needles in my leg than a dressmakers got in their whole bloody sewing kit..."

He pushed away from the counter, picking up his glass of wine and walking gingerly into the living room, Alex holding onto his hand as she walked along beside him, attempting to disguise the concern on her features as he settled into the creaking sofa, placing his glass on the coffee table. Alex settled gingerly down next to him, her legs folded beneath her and wine in one hand as he absently traced the column of her neck with his long fingers. She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch.

"You're thinking again," he said absently, gently twirling her hair around his fingers before leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm not," Alex murmured, moving into his touch and allowing his fragile arms to envelop her. "Really... I'm just quiet, that's all..."

"You're thinking," he concluded. "You're always thinking; it's like a constant bloody stream of intellectual bollucks!"

She shook her head, sighing against him and letting him tug her legs across his lap. "I'm not," she repeated quietly, "promise."

He opened his mouth to answer, apparently about to retort, but there was a sharp knock at the door, and he blinked in surprise. "That was quick," he muttered, pushing her legs off him and reaching over to his overcoat, drawing out a worn leather wallet and selecting a twenty pound note without leaving the sofa.

"I'll get the door!" Alex insisted, moving to get up and stretching a long, bare leg to the floor; Gene pushed her back down with a surprising burst of strength, his eyes flashing warningly as they tracked up her body to her face.

"Not dressed like that you won't," he answered, eyes narrowing slightly. "You look like a bloody porn star!"

"You obviously haven't watched much porn recently," Alex added darkly, but a glance down at herself told her that going to the door would be well beyond risqué; she wore Gene's shirt, which was unbuttoned well beyond decency at the chest, lacy knickers, and bare legs... In the time she'd spent observing her appearance, Gene had got up and reached for the door, and Alex sighed to herself, looking up simply for the sake of watching him, taking in the broadness of his shoulders and the slim length of his legs, the floppiness of his hair...

The door opened, and Alex couldn't quite contain the bubble of laughter that rose in her throat as the delivery boy came into view, dressed in flamboyant pink, with slicked back blonde hair, and a hoop through his ear that was so inarguably feminine that she was surprised Gene didn't punch him into next week for his audacity.

"Bloody 'ell," she heard him mutter, and a moment later she'd forsaken his disapproval of her clothing to intercept the conversation, stepping between Gene and the door to smile winningly at the evidently dumbstruck pizza boy.

"Thank you," she smiled, reaching behind her to take the twenty-pound note from Gene's hand.

"It's fine, sweetie," the boy murmured camply, glancing at Gene almost curiously, then jerking himself upright and smiling, revealing perfectly white teeth as he handed over the two pizzas, and the wrapped container containing the bolognese. "Nineteen fifty, please..." he glanced at Gene again, then, with his hand outstretched in a rather camp manner, he added, "is he alright, sweets?"

"Oh, he's fine," she assured him as she handed the money over, looking pointedly at Gene, who then nodded his head with a jerk, answering with a brisk "fine," before taking the food from Alex's hands and walking into the kitchen. Alex sighed, shaking her head in apology, as the boy glanced at her with an amused look.

"Is it the pink?" He asked, grinning wickedly as he tucked the money into his pocket. "My boyfriend says it brings out the pink in my hair..."

Alex couldn't help but laugh as she heard Gene drop something in the kitchen, following the accident up with a string of obscenities which caused the boys eyebrows to fly up his forehead. "Sorry," she grinned apologetically. "He's a little old fashioned, that's all..."

He smiled back, stepping away from the doorway as he spoke. "Not to worry, honey; I'm sure you'll manage to distract him..." He winked tellingly at her shirt, pushed fifty pence change into her hand, and then promptly strolled down the corridor whilst waving with a noticeably glaring campness. Alex spluttered her bemusement, and then closed the door behind her, walking into the kitchen with a small grin on her face as she saw Gene smoking a cigarette with a look of sincere annoyance upon his lips.

"Could you have been any more rude?" She teased, kneeling down on the floor and reaching into the cupboard beneath the sink for the dustpan and brush, swiftly collecting up the broken plate and dumping the remains in the bin.

"Yes," Gene retorted, his eyes following the sway of her arse as she sashayed around the kitchen, with a familiarity that unnerved him as much as it thrilled him. "I could've told him to grow a pair of bollucks and stop stabbin' his mate's shits, but I didn't." He took a large drag on his cigarette, eyeing her buttocks for a few moments before adding, "You should be thanking me, Bols; was a time I'd 'ave sent the damn pizza back."

"Well, that would be rather petty, wouldn't it?" She teased, unable to stop the grin from gracing her features.

"No," Gene answered stubbornly, his eyes narrowing slightly. ""Arses are for two things, Bolly; you sit on it, an' yer shit with it. You don't stick a ruddy great dick up it and call it sex!"

Alex rolled her eyes, reaching for the boxes of pizza as she took the bait and answered him, rising to the argument with a familiar exasperation. "Really, Gene, the only difference between gay and straight sex is the entrance, and even that's arguable now - plenty of heterosexual couples have anal sex, and it's not-!"

"Bolly," Gene growled warningly, eyes flashing. "Serve the food." He surprised her as he dropped a kiss on her forehead, as though to make up for the order, and remained uncharacteristically quiet afterwards. Alex bit back a feminist remark as she realized he had no desire to continue the argument, instead turning obediently to the food at hand and frowning slightly to herself as she did so.

"You realize that two may have been a little adventurous?" She pointed out to him, placing four slices from the first pizza on each plate before uncovering the bolognese, taking the lid off the container and using a large serving spoon to share it between their plates.

"Better stuffed than hungry," Gene shrugged, pressing a small kiss to her cheek, hand resting upon her waist. "Stick the spare in the fridge, we'll 'ave it fer breakfast."

Alex laughed, selecting knives and forks and placing one pair on either plate, handing Gene his before heading over to the table, tenderly biting her lip as she saw the warm look in his eye. She said nothing as he leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead, then went into the living room, returning a moment later with their wine glasses. He filled them to the brim mere seconds later and placed them on the table, before settling into the seat across from her. She watched him for a few moments as he dug into his pizza, chewing with no semblance of etiquette and forcing her to laugh out loud at the sight.

"You haven't changed that much, you know," she said, cutting a small piece from her own pizza and dabbing it in the sauce from the bolognese as she smiled at him. "I mean... underneath it all... Same old biases, same old opinions, same old habits..." she eyed the way he chomped on his food with a raise of the eyebrows, before putting her own food in her mouth, watching as his blue eyes danced.

"Glad you think so, Bols," he muttered, swallowing his food and taking a swig of wine. She expected a smug reply, but none came, and he tucked back into his food quickly and determinedly. Alex waited a few moments, watching him carefully, then smiled, taking a sip of wine and returning to her meal.

* * *

The conversation was easy; it came and it went, but there was no moment of discomfort, and when they gave up the second pizza as a bad idea and migrated back to the sofa, it was with a pleasantly dizzy feeling that had nothing to do with alcohol; Alex sank against his chest gratefully, head resting against the thundering beat of his heart as his arms wrapped around her back. His lips found her forehead, pressing gentle kisses to the warm skin before, buoyed on by the smell of her hair and the unmistakeable warmth flooding his body, he whispered gently and quietly in her ear.

Alex frowned, unable to make out the words that he spoke and lifting her head up with a frown. "What?"

His blue eyes were warm, if nervous as they fixed upon her own, and a moment later he leaned forwards, breath teasing her ear as he spoke again. "Said I love you, Bolly," he murmured, swallowing loudly as he slipped a hand into her hair and pressed another kiss to her cheek.

Alex blinked, looking at him in surprise, but there was a shining, pleased look in her eyes that quelled the nervous swirling at the pit of his stomach. "I thought you never had the chance," she smiled, stroking his cheek. He blinked, and then swallowed, nodding slowly.

"Yeah," he muttered uncomfortably. "Well... I guess I didn't... but I 'ave now... an' I do... Now do me a favour, an' don't tell anyone." He grinned down at her teasingly, avoiding the sentiment of the conversation by pressing a firm kiss to her lips. She ignored his discomfort, cupping his cheek gently in her hand as she met his eyes.

"I love you too," she murmured quietly, echoing his kiss with a tender brush of her own lips to his, feeling him sigh lightly against her mouth. "I'd spend every day doing it if I could..."

"You'd get bored in two," he quipped back, closing his eyes and resting his head on hers. He was silent for a few moments, his hands smoothing over the soft, silken surface of her hair, breathing shaken and uneven before he added, "Wouldn't mind though... Two days are better than one."

Alex looked up at him, her smile sad as she shook her head. "It's a lot easier to love you than you seem to think," she murmured, finding his hand with her own and squeezing gently. "Despite your best attempts to hide it, you're a very loveable person..."

"Course I am," Gene muttered sarcastically. "I'm as loveable as Hitler, as shaggable as Maggie Thatcher, and as useful as a chicken dipper in a veggie salad..." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and smirked slightly. "Oh, I can see why you're so hung up on me, Bolly; face of a movie star, body of a porn star, and the sharp wit of a dull axe..."

"Don't put yourself down," Alex teased, grinning and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Porn stars are pretty much plastic anyway..."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about," Gene murmured accusingly, grinning as she met his eyes unblinkingly. "Got something you want to share with the class there, Bols?"

"No, Guv," she smiled wickedly. "Just that I was very lonely, and you weren't around..."

Gene rolled his eyes, shaking his head gently from side to side. "Dirty perv," he muttered softly, chuckling to himself. "If I'd known you sat in your flat watching porno, I'd 'ave given you something better to look at."

"It was looking at you that made me want to watch it," Alex replied, face twitching with amusement. Gene's eyes fell to her mouth, and she saw him swallow hard, tongue peaking out to dampen the cracked skin of his lips.

"You really are filthy, Bolly," he murmured softly, leaning forwards and gently taking her lips with his. "If I wasn't so bloody old, I'd see just how filthy..."

She shook her head, stroking his cheek and kissing the tip of his nose gently. "You're not old," she whispered, but her eyes were downcast, tears slipping from her lids, and he caught the desperate, pleading note in her voice that made his heart clench.

"I'm decrepit, Bols," he grinned. "As agile as a dead man in a coffin... But if that's what does it for you then by all means convince me of my youth." He winked down at her with a smirk and added, "You never know; it could be fun..."

"I'm sure it would be," Alex grinned warmly, brushing her lips to his.

"I know it will be," he murmured, drawing her back to him the moment she tried to pull away. Her hand tangled swiftly in his hair, her lips surrendering to his, and not for the first time, the world seemed to fall away.

* * *

It was late morning when Alex awoke, feeling Gene's hair tickle against her cheek as his face rested in her neck. Despite the initial intention to remain awake all night, they'd fallen into bed at about five o'clock, Gene curling into her back and holding her firmly to him. For a little while, he'd seemed reluctant to let her sleep, whispering tiredly and nearly incoherently into her ears, until she'd turned gently into his arms, pulling his mouth to his for a sweet, gentle kiss that quieted him instantly.

"You're tired," she'd told him quietly, stroking his cheek as she drew back from him. "Go to sleep."

He'd shaken his head slowly, though his heavy eyelids betrayed him even as he spoke. "Not tired," he'd murmured. "Should stay awake... Only got tonight..."

Fear had darkened his eyes, and it was noticeable even in the dull light of the bedroom as she tangled her fingers into soft locks of hair. "Sleep," she'd told him quietly. "We've got tomorrow..."

Gene had nodded slowly, but he had made no move to settle into slumber as he had drawn her tight against him, his lips moving across her skin almost desperately. His limbs remained heavy with reluctance, and eventually Alex had cupped his face in her hands, eyes sincere and imploring as she gently stroked down his cheek and neck.

"We've got tomorrow," she repeated quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Nothing could stop me spending tomorrow with you..."

"A bloody coma might," he had growled darkly, voice bristling with agitation. Alex had felt her heart muscles clench slightly, tears springing to her eyes as his hands tightened on her skin.

She'd shaken her head slowly, resting her head against his neck as she spoke quietly to him. "I won't leave you again, Gene," she'd promised him. "I won't leave you..."

It had taken several quiet concessions, a number of gentle embraces, and smooth, soft caresses of her hand on his cheek, but eventually he'd given in, simply taking her in his arms and burying his face in her neck. She'd been surprised by the ease with which they settled to sleep, shocked by the blanket of comfort that his arms had held as she breathed in the scent of his skin; she'd almost wondered if she would be able to sleep with another person alongside her, but the familiarity of him was overwhelming, and the feeling of his breath on her neck had lulled her into a deep, luxurious sleep such as she hadn't experienced in years.

Now, waking to his warm embrace, she shifted in his arms, feeling him stir as she turned around to look at him, face turned up towards his as her fingers stroked his cheek. The growth of stubble had increased overnight, and she smiled at the feeling of the gentle fuzz that touched her skin. His eyes fluttered open, blinking lazily several times as he looked at her warmly, hand drifting up her spine and teasing her skin as he moved his head closer to hers.

He looked older in the mornings, she realized sadly; without the suit, the combed hair and the bravado, he looked every one of his years... Her heart shattered silently, and Gene reached out to stroke the column of her neck, offering more comfort than he could possibly comprehend.

"Morning," he grumbled, voice rough and rasping before he caught her mouth gently with his own, his kiss tender and tentative as he drew her closer against him.

"Morning," she murmured back, arms snaking tightly around his back, lips not quite leaving his as his hand slid into her hair, holding the back of her head firmly while he kissed her.

"Don't go back to sleep," Gene whispered, drawing slightly away to stroke delicate fingers down her cheek and across her lips.

"I told you," she whispered softly. "I'm not going anywhere... not yet, anyway..."

"You will later," he mumbled quietly, his nose nuzzling at her hair affectionately as he drew her tight. "An' much as I'd love to chase yer, I'm about as nimble as Stephen Hawking after he's 'ad a couple of shandies..."

"You really need to stop saying things like that," Alex whispered, kissing his lips gently.

"Why change a habit of a lifetime, 'ey Bolly?" he murmured, feeling her shiver against him and instantly drawing the duvet tighter around them.

"I meant about constantly insinuating houseless and old you are, actually," she teased quietly, "but I suppose some of your comments are rather mean, too..."

Gene chuckled, gently stroking down the length of her spine as he shifted awkwardly onto his back, limbs protesting against the movement as a low groan of pain escaped his throat. He ignored the look of concern that darkened Alex's eyes, instantly reaching for her and drawing her into the crook of his arm, her hand resting against the beat of his heart.

"I'm right though, Bolly," he mumbled, resting his head against hers. "I am old."

"I'd still shag you," Alex murmured, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

"You're just a gold digger though, Bols," Gene grinned. "Just after the copious amounts of gold I stash away in the underwear drawer..."

"Oh, you know me too well," she drawled sarcastically, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. "My plan is foiled, whatever shall I do?"

Gene paused for a moment, looking at her thoughtfully, and then grinned. "Make me breakfast," he suggested, smirking at the look she sent his way before continuing. "I'm old and useless, Bolly; eggs are beyond me."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly before slipping from the bed, taking the duvet with her defiantly; Gene chuckled, watching her bunch the large red mass around her shoulders, before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a fresh shirt and trousers, then following her into the kitchen.

* * *

The morning passed far too quickly; one minute, Gene was teasing her about her failed attempt at a boiled egg, and the next he was holding her in a fierce embrace on the creaking sofa, his arms tight around her back and face buried in her neck, nostrils filled with the smell of her, hands burning at the feeling of her skin beneath his fingers... Alex just let him hold her, clinging to him as tears fell and minutes flashed by before her eyes. She had no concept of anything, held no grasp of reality outside the safe haven of his surprisingly strong, protective arms. She knew her daughter awaited her at home, knew she should be rejoicing at the knowledge she would see her little girl grow up, but at that moment she couldn't imagine a life where his arms did not envelop her, where his smell didn't consume her totally...

"Don't cry," he murmured soothingly. "Don't bloody cry..."

"I'm not crying," she whispered unconvincingly, wet tears streaming onto his shirt. "I'm just- my eyes are just watering..."

"Ponce," he muttered gruffly, pressing a kiss to her forehead and holding her closer. "You're as wet as a bloody sponge, an' I don't mean that in a good way."

Alex sniffed with laughter, swiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she mumbled apologetically, taking a deep breath and resting her head on his shoulder. "Just being silly I suppose..."

"Yeah," Gene murmured, rubbing her shoulder tentatively. He searched for words, trying desperately to think of something reassuring to say, to find some semblance of feeling that would make her understand the true depth of emotion that the rapidly passing seconds held for him... He knew she had to leave soon – Molly was going to a friend's house for the weekend, and she didn't want to miss her leaving; she'd suggested returning later and staying until Monday, but they both knew it would be far more than either of them could stomach when the time eventually came for her to leave, and he hadn't needed to answer for them both to agree on that matter. He had, however, wondered vaguely if it was the first time they'd agreed to anything without snapping each other's heads off; he concluded that it must have been, and had gathered her into his arms without another word.

She'd booked a taxi for three o'clock, sadly dismissing the offer for Gene to drive her, knowing that at least this way, she could recompose her tear-stained face on the drive home, before curling up in a ball for the next three days; she knew only too well that if he drove her to her house, there would be no facing Evan or Molly when she entered.

The minutes were racing past at a speed beyond neither Gene nor Alex's comprehension, and when the knock at the door came three minutes early, he felt cheated beyond every ounce of reason; with a snarl that would have caused grown lions to quake, he wrenched open the door and demanded that the driver wait in the taxi until they were ready; Alex wasn't sure if it was out of respect for his elders, fear of death, or a combination of the two, but the younger man had scuttled out of view before Gene had even shut the door, and his footsteps could be heard descending the staircase mere seconds later.

Now, Gene found himself stood at the door with Alex wrapped quietly in his arms, his forehead touched to hers as he breathed shakily, feeling the warmth of her own breath on his face and the rasping uncertainty of his own as he tenderly stroked down her cheek.

"Don't make me leave, Gene," she murmured softly, holding his face in her hands and shaking her head desperately, lip trembling as she bit down hard upon it.

"I'm not," he answered, swallowing hard as he covered one of her hands with his.

"Come to dinner," she whispered quietly. "Just- just tonight. Just once, Gene, please – I can't lose you again, I just-"

"You a sadist, Bolly?" Gene murmured, stroking her temple with the rough pad of his thumb and swallowing once again as he watched Alex's brow crinkle with confusion.

She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak again, but Gene spoke over her, his voice soft and teasing, but there was no way of missing the sincerity in his gaze.

"Good," he muttered. "'cause I ain't much into torture meself."

She watched him sadly, her eyes watering, but she nodded in understanding, moving closer and resting her head on his chest, her arms around his back tightly as she nodded her understanding. "I know," she whispered softly. "I know, I just- I don't know how I'm going to be able to lose you after I-!"

"Bolly," Gene murmured softly, drawing slightly back and tilting up her chin to meet his eyes. His warm, frail hands framed her face, and for a moment Alex's trembling subsided as his blue eyes zoned in on her own and spoke quietly, painfully... "I don't want this either."

Her hands dug suddenly into the lapels of his shirt, her face less than an inch away from his as her voice turned desperate, pleading, broken... "Come with me," she whispered. "Please come with me; Molly will understand – she'll understand, Gene... Please, please come with me!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling thick and fast, and Gene could do nothing but shake his head, his jaw clenching as he pulled her closer, tighter, breathing in her smell, treasuring the feel of her in his arms...

"I can't," he cracked, swallowing against the iron lump in his gullet. "I can't... You know I can't... Bols, I just-!"

"I love you!" Alex whispered, shaking fiercely in his arms as she cried copiously into his shirt, nails digging into his skin. "I can't leave; I can't lose you!"

Gene drew her closer, his mouth going dry and throat blocking with words he couldn't bring himself to speak. "I know..." was all he could muster, rocking her backwards and forwards as he swallowed repeatedly. "I know..."

"I can't lose you again," she repeated, voice jerking and quaking as she clung to him helplessly. "I can't; it's not-"

"We've been through this," he murmured, though he could feel his own chest clench, taste the acrid, bitter sting at the back of his throat that told him he could change his mind, a taste that told him if he asked her to, she'd stay with him... He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his lips hard to her forehead as he shook his head. "We can't..."

"We could," she whispered imploringly, clinging tighter. "We could, if you-!"

"No," he said softly, pulling her head back and looking deep into her eyes. She blinked away tears, and then tried to look away, but not before he caught the flash of guilt in the depths of her hazel eyes; he pulled her straight back. "Look at me," he murmured when she tried to close her eyes. When she didn't do so, he leaned forwards, breath hot on her skin as he pressed an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to each eyelid; he felt her stiffen slightly in his arms, and then leaned closer, lips brushing her ear as he spoke again.

"Look at me," he repeated softly.

As he drew back, her eyes fluttered open, tears leaking still more as his hands remained firmly on either side of her face. She sobbed slightly, but she didn't try to move, and a moment later Gene began to talk, voice soft and barely above a whisper, yet still his words seemed to crash around her like cymbals and drums. "This is it," he said softly, voice cracking once again. "For me, this is- this is it; there's nothing else..."

"But-!"

He cut her off, shaking his head and pressing a long finger to her lips. "Just listen, Bols," he murmured. "Just this once, stick a sock in it an' listen..." He waited a moment, watching as she quivered with the evident need to retort, but finally stilled, offering a small jerk of the head to acknowledge that she would do as he wished. His hand slipped into her hair, wrapping locks around his long fingers as he swallowed again.

"I waited twenty-six years fer you, Bols," he said, wetting his lips and tilting his head slightly to look at her, taking in the elegant lines of her face and smirking to himself. "An' it was worth it, too... but I can't hold you back; you've got a twelve year old kid, an' I look like the crypt keeper with a constant bad hair day." He stroked a tear away from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, watching her mouth twitch with a mixture of amusement and retort, before he went on, gripping her face slightly tighter as he rested his forehead against hers.

"If I'm lucky I've got ten years left," he murmured, "you've got about fifty, unless you trip off a bus an' twat yerself in the face with a pair of eyebrow tweezers." He frowned slightly, and then added, not entirely jokingly, "Actually, Bols, that does sound like something you'd do..."

Alex sniffed slightly, pushing him in the chest with the flat of her palm and smiling despite herself. He grinned back, gently stroking her cheek and drawing her tighter against him. "You were worth it," he murmured softly into her hair after a few moments, his eyes closed as he inhaled her smell once again. "Christ, you were so worth it..."

Her arms tightened, hands slipping beneath his shirt and seeking the reassuring heat of his flesh, face buried in his neck as she trembled against him. He kept his lips in her hair, breathing unsteady and heart thundering as she remained enveloped firmly in his arms, quivering with palpable grief as she bit down hard on her bottom lip.

The loud, piercing shriek of a car horn broke through the silence, and neither of them questioned who it was; it was plainly obvious to the pair of them, and there was no denial, no question of its intent... Alex looked up at him, clearly about to speak, but it was Gene that made the first move, pulling her up against him and cupping the back of her head in his hands, drawing her towards him as his lips descended desperately and warmly on her own; she didn't resist in the slightest, clinging to him as fervently as he clung to her.

His mouth was demanding and gentle all at once, and despite the tears that streamed down her cheeks, and the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears, she couldn't help but notice the tenderness and emotion that he somehow etched into every movement of his lips. Each whisper, each caress, left a mark on her like none she had yet experienced, and despite the now achingly familiar taste of his mouth, this one kiss felt to her the most potent, the most meaningful; she could feel his desperation, feel his grief, his longing, his love and his compassion, and the intensity of this one moment forced her breath to stop, her heart to skip a beat, and her head to spin...

He pulled back sharply, his eyes glistening as he looked away, the pulse in his neck hammering out its own beat as he swallowed once, and then swallowed again, jerking the door open as his eyes clouded over, hiding the horrible insecurity that raged in the pit of his stomach behind a mask of detachment.

"Go," he whispered hoarsely, gulping again, his hands shaking slightly on her shoulder as he moved to push her out of the door. "Just- just go... I need-"

She cut him off with her mouth on his, hands tangled in his hair as she attempted to cram every ounce of love, longing and passion into one final taste of his lips. He didn't move to resist, instead pushing her back against the ajar door, hands cupping her face as he gave back every emotion ounce for ounce, loving her, needing her as one hand slid to her waist, pulling her firmly against him as he tasted the salt tears that stained her cheeks, felt the warmth of them as she whispered against his lips.

"I love you," she murmured, kissing him harder; Gene's mouth slid to her neck and she felt him nod, felt his breath hitch and his hands tighten.

"I know," he whispered, voice cracking. "I know..." He pressed his lips hard against her thundering pulse, feeling the flesh move beneath his mouth as he took one last, painfully short breath of her scent, taste of her skin, touch of her flesh... "You too," he whispered softly. "I love you too..." Then he jerked away, flinching with physical pain that had nothing to do with his withered limbs as he pushed backwards from the door, his head spinning and mind hurting as he swallowed hard.

"Leave," he whispered softly, voice harsh and dry. "You have to leave..."

He couldn't even bring himself to watch; he felt her come closer again, felt her lips press one final kiss to his withered cheek, and then a moment later he felt the loss of her, heard her stumble slightly into the half... With a pain beyond any that he could have imagined, Gene shut the door behind her with a thud, falling against it instantly and slumping against the wood as he listened to her sobs on the other side of the door, heard the faint, uneven patter of her heels on the floor, on the stairs, before a car door shut, an engine started, and a cold swept over his whole body.

**

* * *

**

I apologise for the nastiness. It was going to happen – I'm just missing the Galex muse at this point, so please accept my apologies; I still know where this is going, and I hope it was still readable.

**Mage of the Heart**


	19. Pain On Pain

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**....**

Gene couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly blackout drunk, although he supposed it must have been about a year or so after the shooting, when the images of Alex's crumpling body had been starting to fade from memory due to endless nights of repetitive drinking, all of which had led to him waking up with only a vague, hazy recollection of anything that had happened. The guilt when he'd realized he couldn't remember the exact pattern and colour of her blouse had been overwhelming, and he'd dropped the habit like a tonne of hot bricks; that wasn't to say he stopped drinking altogether, of course - he simply drank until every colour of the now more hazy memory was as vivid as was humanly possible, then promptly plonked himself on the sofa, and smoked twenty cigarettes to quell the omnipresent swell of guilt in his stomach.

Now, five whiskeys and a bottle of wine down, he was three-quarters of the way there, his eyelids and limbs heavy with alcohol and exhaustion, tongue thick and dry in his mouth as he slouched awkwardly on the sofa, the smell of her perfume and her hair teasing at his senses as his nose pressed uncomfortably into the sofa cushion. Part of him still hoped he'd dreamt it up, that he'd wake up the next morning and realize he'd never met her in this time at all... but the smell of her was too tangible, the memory of her too real and vivid for him to delude himself for even a moment, and the pain in his chest refused to go away, even as he downed drink after drink as a poor substitute for an anaesthetic.

He felt torn, broken, and exhausted; after years of waiting, of hoping, of holding on to the smallest shred of distant possibility, he'd finally got what he'd wanted since the day he met her.

After a lifetime of waiting, he finally knew what it was like to kiss her, to hold her, to love her...

And after a day of holding her in his arms like a piece of fragile glass, treasuring every scrap of conversation and every whisper of her lips against his, he'd had to let her go.

* * *

She knew Evan was worried; she'd managed to wave Molly off before she did so, but she'd broken down into a mass of tears that were well beyond her control the second the door had closed. He'd assumed it was to do with her parents, assumed that the reason she met up with Gene was to come to terms with how they'd died, how their last moments had panned out... She couldn't even begin to explain the real reason behind her tears, because the moment she tried, her heart had constricted, and she'd broken into renewed sobs so intense that she'd slumped to the ground where she stood. Evan had said nothing, holding her and rocking her until she quieted into silence, though the tears still streamed ceaselessly down her cheeks.

Eventually, he'd carried her - with some difficulty- up to bed, and she'd barely been able to crawl beneath the cool duvet before she was wracked with further grief, and buried her face in her pillow. It was only after Evan had left the room and closed the door behind him that she'd pulled her bag up from the floor, extracting the shirt Gene had discarded that morning and lifting it up to her nose, losing herself in desperation; the smell of him overrode everything else, and she burrowed her face into the fabric, inhaling long, deep breaths and losing herself in the fragile memories that would have to be enough to last her the rest of her life.

* * *

The pounding knock on the door was just enough to rouse him from his alcohol-induced stupor; he stumbled from the bedroom unsteadily, head spinning, the room seeming to sway along with him as he made his way towards the door, closing his eyes briefly as his hand gripped the handle, before drawing it open.

"Alright Guv?" the familiar voice sounded, and Gene let out a groan as the noise reverberated against his skull, pounding and jarring as it went on. "Shaz said to drop these off for yer – had to pick up little Ray's medicine, an' she didn't think you'd remember to get these yerself." Chris pushed a paper bag into Gene's hand, and a glance down told him that Shaz had thought it a good idea to collect his prescription; Gene rolled his eyes at it, perfectly aware that Shaz knew he hadn't taken the aforementioned pills since they were originally prescribed to him nearly two and a half years ago.

He blinked away from the blue, green and white packaging, and then looked up into Chris' face, struck suddenly by how aged the younger man had become, and realizing, not for the first time, the totally bizarre nature of the situation he found himself in. His former DC's once blonde hair was streaked with grey, wrinkles lined his face, and he wore brown spectacles on his nose. He was still in his work clothes – a dark brown two piece suit, with a white shirt underneath, unbuttoned at the top. Gene realised that the newly promoted DI must have been heading home after his Saturday shift, and he grimaced slightly at the knowledge he'd felt it necessary to take a detour.

"Tell 'er thanks," Gene muttered absently, indicating the bag Chris had just handed over, rubbing his head slightly with his hand, then stumbling towards the sofa, where he slumped heavily, head lolling back on the cushions as Chris awkwardly stepped over his feet and settled on the seat beside Gene.

"How's DI Drake?" Chris asked, the same awkward note hitting his voice that had been present for twenty-six years; none of them had understood... none of them could possibly understand how important it was for him to see her.

"Alive," Gene replied, feeling the real truth of those words hit home, and reaching subconsciously for the hip flask in his blazer before taking a large gulp of whiskey.

"That's good," Chris smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "Have you err-? Have you been today?"

Gene shook his head, taking another drink and grimacing as it burnt its way down his throat. "Not yet," he murmured softly, swirling the flask absently as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris check his watch.

"You erm-... you going tonight?" The question was tentative, but Chris already knew which answer to expect; he always got the same.

"Yeap." Gene answered out of habit more than anything else, but he knew he would go, even if he tried to talk himself out of it; he always ended up going.

Chris nodded, and then checked his watch again with a frown. "You wanna get going soon then Guv; visitin' hours are over at eight- it's half seven now, an' they won't let you in if-"

"They will," Gene murmured absently. "They always do..."

He caught the awkwardness in Chris's gaze, felt the discomfort that radiated from the younger man in waves, and he wasn't at all surprised when Chris pushed himself to his feet, dusting invisible dirt off his trousers and pointing towards the door with a nervous grimace. "I'll just be err- I should get going... It's Billy's birthday, an' Shaz wants me to pick up the cake from the bakery..."

Gene nodded, pushing himself up with a grunt and following Chris to the door. "How old is 'e now?" He asked absently, watching as Chris paused at the door. "Twelve ain't it?"

Chris frowned, shaking his head and wringing his hands together with an air of awkwardness. "No, err, it's his eighteenth, Guv..."

"Eighteen?" Gene spluttered, eyebrows knitting together. "Bloody 'ell..." He shook his head, blinking in bafflement as he did so. "Eighteen years..." he went on. Under his breath, as the realization passed, he repeated, "bloody hell."

Chris nodded, wetting his lips slightly, and then pointed to the now discarded pharmacy bag on the sofa. "Shaz says to tell you it's one a day, take it on an empty stomach, and don't drink while you're on-" Apparently seeing the look of sardonic amusement on Gene's face, Chris stopped, shrugging and grinning almost embarrassedly. "Just passin' on the message, Guv," he murmured.

"Yeah," Gene nodded, swallowing slightly. "Yeah, cheers, Chris... say happy birthday to the lad, 'ey?"

"Will do, Guv," Chris smiled, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing again at the bag on the sofa. "Guv, d'you think maybe you should try the chem-?"

"No I bloody do not!" Gene answered, walking up to the door as Chris stepped into the hall. "Now get home before Shaz 'as me balls on a platter!"

Chris sighed, offered a small, parting wave, then left with a nod of the head and a resigned, "bye Guv."

Gene shut the door after him, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting up before grabbing the pharmacy bag from the chair, ripping the paper away and glancing at the label with a resigned sigh. Sodium clodronate, he mused... whatever the hell that was; he tossed it onto the coffee table a few moments later, and took a long drag on his cigarette in silent defiance, before grabbing his coat and heading out of the door.

* * *

"I'm fine, Evan," Alex assured him unsuccessfully from the safety of her bed, wiping at her streaming eyes and forcing an optimistic smile as she went on. "I'm fine – it's just a bit of a shock, that's all... I'll be fine; just getting it out of my system before Molly gets back..."

If he didn't believe her, he said nothing, simply swallowing hard, nodding his head, and leaving the room with a sigh. The moment the door clicked shut and his feet began to pad down the stairs, she drew the shirt she had hidden from view out from beneath the duvet, pressing the fabric to her nose and biting back a sob as, not for the first time, she realized his scent was fading.

It had been the pre-cursor to another emotional breakdown, and despite her best intentions to remain quiet enough to evade Evan's notice, he'd walked in to find her grasping a pillow to her chest and sobbing incoherently into its casing. The absent smell, the memory of Gene's warm chest, strong arms and gentle hands, had sent her reeling, and much as she wished it were possible to forget, she was consumed by him, spinning off course as she found that he caused a raging battle between her head and her heart.

It shouldn't have bothered her this much, she knew; a single night with any man should never have held this much emotion, meaning, attachment... She remembered everything they had shared, and it shook her with more physical grief than she could have thought possible. She recalled the gentle way in which his fingers had combed through her tendrils of hair, the way his hands had felt pressed against her spin, the way his arms had wrapped around her so tightly, forcing out all thought of anything but him, erasing any premise of danger, blocking out the pain of losing him, leaving him, knowing him and letting it go again...

She was well aware that she was lost to him; she hadn't known what it was like to be so intricately bound to another person before, but the sudden tearing loss that ripped at her chest opened up realms of achingly painful possibilities which, prior to seeing him, had been impossibly distant and unimaginable.

She was torn; torn, completely and utterly, between the knowledge that she could never rightly be without her daughter, and the resounding feeling in the pit of her stomach that said Gene needed her, just as much as she needed him – and she knew now that she truly did need him; she needed him more than she could ever have comprehended whilst putting up a constant fight for return, but now, with him less than twenty minutes away, and having found herself isolated from him against all the rising hopes she had felt upon seeing him, she felt it like a physical pain, a craving, a desperate need to be close to him that refused to go away; she'd tasted it, felt the buzz, the high, the wonderful, all-too fleeting sensation of incredible happiness, and it had been torn from her, ripped out of her grasp before she was ready, before she could consent to it...

With a shuddering, rasping gasp, she tugged off her t-shirt, dragging Gene's shirt around her shoulders and lifted the collar to her nose, sobs wracking her body as she drew the duvet tight around her shivering form.

* * *

At first he was silent; it felt strange to talk to her, knowing that she lived, breathed and walked around in the present day, perfectly healthy in every sense of the word, and, for all intents and purposes, detached from the life that they'd shared in the eighties... She wasn't _this_ Alex anymore, he reasoned, but it didn't change the fact that he needed to see her, needed to talk to her because, whether he'd been with her or not, he couldn't simply let her go.

Not that he was doing much here, he thought, clenching his fingers slightly against the nicotine craving suddenly rising in his stomach. Christ, he needed a fag; this whole situation was so far beyond comprehension, that unless he was pissed and dosed up with nicotine, he didn't think he'd really ever be able to accept it, let alone understand it.

He looked down at the warm, dry hand held loosely in his own, and the first, most ridiculous, unreasonable thought that came to mind was that this wasn't really Alex; he'd held Alex's hand – the real Alex, the now Alex – and it was softer, warmer, gentler, more responsive...He looked at the scars, tracing each one familiarly, then sighing softly as his fingers found the gentle white line that was, for some unfathomable reason, not present on the real Alex's hand; he still failed to comprehend it, but in the circumstances, he supposed the lack of a scar after hopping twenty-six years in time wasn't too big a deal in the larger scheme of things... Doctor Who could have a field day with this, he thought briefly, before sighing and shifting the chair slightly closer to her bed.

This was the part he didn't get, though, he realised, looking at her aged face. How could she be here and there both at once, old and young, awake and asleep, when really they were just two facets of the same person, two representations of the one same physical being? How could she have aged so much, and yet outside of these four walls she was still the young, vibrant, unblemished woman he'd known twenty-odd years ago?

The door opened hesitantly, and a familiar young nurse poked her head around the door to smile warmly across at him, before moving in to do something with Alex's drips and readings; in the first year or so, he'd been vaguely interested in what the readings were – now he could guess them, and nine times out of ten he was right.

"We were getting worried about you," the nurse teased good-naturedly. "Hadn't known you miss a day before, and then you go and miss two! Thought maybe you'd walked in front of a lorry or something!"

Gene offered a half-hearted, painfully forced smile and shrugged. "Busy," he murmured in explanation, wetting his lips. "Had some stuff to sort out..." He didn't comment on the frankly surprised and disbelieving look that passed over her features, and a moment later she'd finished scribbling something on her pad, and left the room with a shaky parting smile and a murmured goodbye.

With a soft sigh, Gene turned and glanced at Alex's face, swallowing hard as the familiar lines of age burned into his irises. He grimaced, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue and then pressing his fingers into his eyeballs with a groan.

He knew her; he knew her like this, and he knew her as she'd been the day before, and the frank truth that he couldn't escape from was that, either way, she wasn't coming back to him. She couldn't leave her daughter, and she couldn't wake up; he was stranded and lost, caught between two choices that could only spell out disappointment and pain, whichever way he went. He could leave now, abandon her here, in a lonely hospital bed with no company and no comfort, and go on with his life as most retired coppers did these days – pissed and horny, lying smoking on a beach in Alicante, and wondering if he had made the right decision.

Or he could stay; he could come back every day, just as he always had, sit here holding her hand day-after-day knowing that it would never happen, feeling pain and anguish beyond imagination every time he looked at her familiar and yet foreign face, pretending to be optimistic when all the while he knew there was no hope at all...

He sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm briefly, still looking at her face, before standing up suddenly and moving to her ear, breath teasing across its shell as he whispered gently to her. "See yer soon, Bols..."

He kissed her forehead lingeringly, smelling her hair and grimacing at the sterile scent of hospital shampoo, remembering with a wave of longing the apple-scent of her hair the day before, the warm, soft scent of her skin as his mouth and nose had brushed across her neck... With a hiss of pain, he stood up and left, trying his best not to think about what Alex was doing now, whether she was asleep, making tea, having a shower, watching the telly, thinking about him... He failed miserably, and when he climbed back into the battered Quattro a few minutes later, he could think of nothing else.

* * *

The cigarette burnt slowly in the makeshift ash tray on the window sill, tendrils of smoke lifting upwards and catching in the slight draught that slipped through the open window, blowing towards the bed where Alex lay curled beneath the duvet, shivering silently, her eyes closed as the familiar smell invaded her senses.

Stupid, she told herself time and time again; the smell would never be enough, and if she kept going like this she'd have done enough passive smoking by Monday to earn herself a year's worth of chemotherapy. It didn't stop her though; if she kept her eyes closed, and if she wrapped her arms around the pillow as the smell overtook her, for a few moments, every now and then, she convinced herself he was there.

It hadn't been easy getting hold of the cigarettes, mind, she recalled. The look on Evan's face when she'd suggested that she might perhaps be interested in leaving the house to buy a paper had quickly dissuaded her from making the trip out herself, and she'd promptly rung Malcowitz and asked him to send over a packet of Mayfair by courier; he'd questioned it briefly, and she'd explained they were for Evan, and much as she was certain he hadn't believed her, he'd had the decency to keep his thoughts to himself, and a rather large brown package had arrived an hour later, bulging with a variety of sweets and magazines to convince the ever-watchful Evan that it housed nothing sinister.

She'd waited until he'd left her room again, and then discarded the sweets, tossing them to one side before fumbling around in the bottom of the package for the cigarettes and, to her amusement, a pink lighter, complete with sticky label, reading simply: _You might need one of these. _

She'd lit one almost immediately, setting it on an old saucer which had once been the stand to a potted plant, and leaving the window slightly ajar to filter out the worst of the smell; she knew it wouldn't stop Evan from noticing, knew full well that Evan would recognise the smell the second he entered the room, and if that wasn't enough, he'd certainly notice the thin grey haze that hung in the air...

She sighed to herself, laying down silently, her eyes closed, inhaling deeply, and deluding herself, however briefly, that Gene's hand was holding gently onto her own.

* * *

"I've told you before, Gene," the man beside him scolded, "them things won't do anything to help."

Gene rolled his eyes, deliberately exaggerating the next puff he took on the cigarette he was smoking, awkwardly avoiding a scurrying two year old and her baffled grandmother as they walked down the crowd that filled up Oxford Street. "An' I've told you before," he said, grimacing at a slight twinge in his chest, "if I try an' quit these buggers I might as well chop off me bollucks, cut 'em into thin slices and pickle them fer breakfast."

"You mean they're phallic?" the younger man smirked, straightening his dark blue tie as they continued on down the street.

"No," Gene replied tersely. "I mean they're as much a part of me as the old todger is." He took another drag, glancing across at the smart suit and shoes, with the black spiky hair and laughing brown eyes. "Doubt a poof like you would understand that, though," he added under his breath, sniffing slightly and exhaling.

He rolled his eyes, running a hand across dark stubble and grinning at Gene warmly. "I look after myself, Gene - which is more than can be said for you, but it doesn't make me gay."

"You spike yer hair," Gene said bluntly, shrugging absently. "Poof," he concluded, finishing the cigarette and flicking it uncaringly in the direction of a long haired teenage boy in a knee-length leather jacket. The teenager glowered darkly from beneath heavily made-up eyelids, and then stomped across the middle of the road, ignorant of the large double-decker bus which slammed its brakes on a moment later to avoid hitting him. "Deny it all you want Benny boy," Gene went on to the man at his side, "but you're a poof."

Ben Foreman grinned, shaking his head and swigging on the bottle of water in his hand. "Whatever makes you feel better, Gene," he laughed, side-stepping a Chinese couple who were jibbering away rapidly. He glanced at his watch, and then frowned. "Bugger, I need to be getting back. I'm meant to have a two o'clock appointment." He grimaced, hailed a passing taxi, then glanced worriedly back at Gene. "I guess you're still refusing to-!"

"Yes," Gene answered, lighting up a fresh cigarette and ignoring the narrowing of Ben's eyes.

"You know, they really won't make you any-!"

"Yes," Gene sighed, nodding tiredly. "I know; contrary to popular belief I 'ave heard the news."

Ben sighed, showing a sad smile, before opening the taxi door and pushing his brief case onto the back seat. "I guess nothing I say will convince you?"

Gene shook his head, wetting his lips. "Nothing."

"And you won't just come down and-?"

"Nope."

Rolling his eyes, Ben leant against the car door briefly. "I wish you weren't a patient, Gene," he grinned jokingly. "At least then I could punch your lights out and drag you down there myself."

Gene chuckled, shaking his head and taking a slow drag on his latest cigarette. "I'd 'ave you arrested for assault."

"True," the younger man smirked, running a hand through his black hair and sighing. "But then, who's going to believe a washed out copper over a highly respected Doctor?"

"Watch it, son," Gene growled. "Just because you're writin' me pills doesn't mean I won't punch you to kingdom come."

"Are you taking them?" Ben enquired, almost accusingly; Gene rolled his eyes, exhaled a large amount of smoke, and stepped back into the busy crowd.

"See you later, Doc," he said, lifting one hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Gene!" Ben shouted warningly above the loud noise of the crowded street. "Gene, you take them fucking tablets!" Gene kept walking, grinning as Ben went on. "You've got an appointment tomorrow! You better be there! You better be there, or so help me I'll-!"

Gene waved his hand over his shoulder, tossed aside his dead cigarette, and lit up another.

* * *

Bens shouting didn't stop for a while; there was a faint noise of yelling that followed Gene the whole way down the street, and he felt a tired smile tug at his lips as he took a gentle drag from his cigarette.

He liked Ben; when he wasn't mouthing off about patients, medication and Gene's incessant smoking, he was a good laugh, and a more than respectable drinking partner. In fact, if the bloke hadn't become a doctor, he could have made a damn good copper – not that Ben had particularly liked hearing that particular shred of opinion, but, in Gene's eyes at the very least, it was the truth. He was smart, clever, and, unfortunately for Gene, could sniff a rat out quicker than a starved cat, making it rather the more difficult to lie about taking his medication, a fact that rankled more than a little.

They'd met a few years ago; Ben was a newly qualified doctor, eager as a puppy, and light-hearted enough that, when Shaz finally convinced Gene to go and see him about the crippling pains in his legs, they'd ended up going for a drink and getting nostalgic for days Gene was sure the younger man couldn't even remember. It had become a regular thing after that, and, whilst Gene wasn't entirely sure about the ethical implications, Ben remained his assigned doctor, despite Gene's unwillingness to attend appointments.

Their meeting that day had occurred quite by chance; Gene had taken to jumping on the tube and wandering the length of Oxford Street in the last few weeks or so, hoping to lose himself in the crowd, the loud noise, the laughter, the hurry... It didn't work often, but at least it stopped some of the raging loss that nagged at his mind and his heart all day from breaking too far into conscious thought.

He walked from one end to the other, amidst crowds of people he didn't know or care for, smoking his cigarettes, swigging on his whiskey, and silently contemplating the upheaval that his life had undergone over a month ago now. At least in the crowded streets, when the pain got too much or the anger became too intense, he could jerk himself briefly from his reverie and distract himself by crossing the street, avoiding the buses and the taxis, awkwardly sidestepping old ladies and giggling teenagers, and taking as long as possible to cross, just to put off that moment in the sanctuary of the crowd where his thoughts would drift back to Alex.

He'd been thinking about her alot; more than ever, in actual fact, and the pain and the anguish was almost too much, engulfing every thought and action whenever distraction was unattainable. Even the crowds weren't really enough, but they helped, at least a little. It had been a huge relief though, to have Ben interrupt his thoughts today with a startled exclamation, ensnaring him in conversation and falling into step at his side with ease. He'd asked him the usual questions first; how was the pain? Was he still seeing her every day? Would he ever stop? Apparently he wasn't pleased with any of the answers Gene had provided, grimacing slightly when he said the pain was a bitch, clenching his jaw when Gene confirmed that yes, he was still visiting Alex daily, and letting out a small groan when Gene answered that no, he wouldn't stop.

The doctor knew better than to question him; they'd argued about it almost non-stop in their second meeting, with Ben attempting to understand why Gene would put himself through it every day, and Gene explaining, quite openly and uncharacteristically, and in his own roundabout way, that if he didn't see her, he'd only have to deal with the memories and the guilt which, for reasons unbeknownst to either of them, increased tenfold when he didn't see her, despite the knowledge that Alex didn't really have any senses left with which to recognise Gene's presence.

He wasn't surprised when the pills came up; frankly, he'd been expecting the question sooner, and had been mentally rehearsing his reply, but he knew Ben wouldn't have believed him, even if he'd answered in the affirmative.

The truth - as Ben knew, however much he liked to pretend he didn't - was that Gene felt no inclination whatsoever to take the medication, and that, in some sense, the pain in his lungs and the creaking of his bones was a welcome distraction away from the horrible truth of his broken emotions. Not that that had stopped the younger man from prescribing him pills every month; Gene only tossed them in the bin, but the sentiment was there.

Every now and then he'd been tempted by them, though; when it was almost unbearable pain, when breathing became damn near impossible, when his head pounded with agony and his gut felt fit to burst, sometimes he was tempted... But never enough; most of the time he just drank copious amounts of whiskey, went to bed and slept it off. If it still hurt the next morning, he just drank some more.

It had been worse recently, though; he didn't know if he'd given up, gotten worse, or simply started noticing it more, but he'd _felt _it. The last few weeks had been so bloody unbearable anyway, he might have expected to remain clueless as to the shooting, sharp pains that spread through him when he moved, or the ragged, harsh drag of his breathing as he climbed the stairs to the flat; it hadn't been that way at all. If anything, he supposed he'd gone in the other direction with the whole thing, feeling everything more acutely, sensing every movement of each bone within his body as he moved... He didn't feel good, he admitted to himself. In fact, it was fair to say he felt like shit... Not that he'd ever tell Ben that...

He sighed, stubbing out his cigarette with his shoe and groaning as sharp pains raced up his leg, before heading down into the station and boarding the tube, complaining inwardly as he went about public transport, the government, and bloody teenagers.

* * *

Alex listened as Molly trudged grumpily up the stairs to bed, hearing her slam the door angrily behind her, and feeling the sigh of tired relief leave her lips before she really had the chance to stop it.

Typically, Molly had boarded the teen-train at just the wrong moment, and Alex was struggling, not for the first time, to deal with her grief for leaving Gene, and the constraints of being a mother. It was difficult; she rarely found the time to sit by herself, and sometimes when Molly absented herself to use the loo, Alex would break into convulsive sobs over the washing up bowl, only to have Evan shoo her instantly to bed and take over washing duty. Occasionally she heard him scolding her for not helping, heard her snap back angrily, then found herself crying not just for Gene, but for the fact her daughter was growing up, and she had no idea how to react.

She knew the teenage years were going to be the hardest – they always were, weren't they? – but she hadn't been prepared for it just yet. For a while, she blamed herself; she knew Molly had struggled with Alex's illness, knew she'd felt alienated when Alex could do nothing but sit in her room, but it didn't make her feel better. It had taken Evan regaling several of Alex's own worst teenage moments for her to even begin to accept that, whilst none of her visits to hospital could have helped, they weren't to blame for Molly's sudden hormonal mood swings.

But even so, she couldn't help feeling slightly responsible, feeling as though she'd let her daughter down by becoming so caught up in her own life... A life, she realized, that Molly knew nothing about, and never could; because what sane person told their daughter that they'd gone back in time to the nineteen eighties, seen their parents die all over again, seen her ex-husband at the age of fourteen, and fallen in love with a man who was, in every sense, the complete opposite to all of the other men she had been attracted to; violent, corrosive, argumentative, stubborn, sexist, racist, homophobic?

She could only imagine what Molly's reaction would be were she to turn around and tell her all of that, and to then tell her that she'd seen him in this life, seen him crippled with physical and emotional pain as he visited her comatose other self, and that she'd still loved him despite the age, the crippling agony he was so evidently in, the unchanged persona and the still rampant opinions; Molly wouldn't understand that, she had realised, tears springing to her eyes.

"Mum, where's my phone?" The shout echoed down from the landing, jerking her from her reverie, and Alex sighed, glancing around the now empty kitchen for Molly's tiny pink Samsung.

"It's no wonder she bloody loses it," she muttered under her breath, lifting up a stack of post, then standing up and moving over to the counter, rummaging on the top of the microwave, opening cupboard after cupboard, then walking into the hall, glancing around there, too. She eventually found it beneath a folded pair of socks beside the telephone, and she lifted it up with a half-smile.

"It's here, Mols," she called back, holding out her hand as though Molly were a foot away and about to take it from her. "It's-!" She stopped as it began vibrating in her hand, the screen lighting up and flashing 'Unknown Number' at her repeatedly. "Mols, it's ringing!"

Molly didn't reply, and Alex clenched her jaw before trying again. "Mols!" She called. "Mols, your phone's ringing, and-!"

"Answer it then!" Molly called back agitatedly. "I'm on the loo!"

"But Mols, why don't you just-?"

"Answer it!" The shriek Molly sent back in reply shocked Alex, and for a few brief moments she wondered who exactly would be on the other end at this time of night that could make Molly so evidently agitated, but a moment later she sighed, pushing the green button and lifting it to her ear.

"Hello?" She said, sighing and absently fiddling with the hair as she glanced in the hallway mirror.

"Bols?" She straightened up suddenly, hand freezing in her hair; there was no mistaking that nickname, she thought, heart skipping a beat. And there was no mistaking the now familiar, worn, gravelly, rough voice that reached her and fell on her ears like warm rays of sun.

"Gene?" Alex asked, gasping her surprise and pressing the phone tighter to her ear. "Gene, what's wrong? How did you get this number? When did I-?"

"Bolly?" He sounded agitated and worried, and Alex found herself nodding as she answered.

"It's me, Gene," she assured him, feeling the smile on her face. "Gene, it's-!"

"Alex?" He said more urgently, his voice getting slightly louder, rising in pitch. "Alex, can you 'ear me?"

"I can hear you, Gene!" Alex answered, raising her voice slightly. "I can-"

"I need you to hear me, Bolly," his voice was pleading, desperate, tired, old, and she bit down hard on her lip as his voice went softer, as it did when he felt uncomfortable, worried, out of place, nervous...

"I can," she whispered back. "Gene, I can hear you, I can-"

"Need you to come back, Bols," he ground out, a soft hiss escaping him, and Alex could imagine the grimace of pain on his features, the stubborn line of his mouth as he schooled himself back into a mask of calm. "Just- just for tonight... Please Bols... please come back..."

His sharp breath reached her ears, a soft hiss left his lips, and then the line went dead.

* * *

**Thanks for all the positive feedback - hope this was alright! I know it's a bit angsty... but it helped me immensely :p**

**Mage of the Heart**


	20. Here For Now

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Who was it?" Molly was calling from the top of the stairs. "Mum? Mum! Who was it?"

Alex snapped her head around to glance at her daughter, blinking several times before she managed to speak, looking from Molly to the phone in her hand with an evidently vacant expression on her face. "It was- it was erm..." She swallowed slightly, shaking her head, and then murmuring softly, "it was a wrong number... Someone asking for- for someone else..."

Molly frowned at her for a moment, and then walked down the stairs, holding her hand out expectantly. "Can I have it back?"

Alex simply nodded blankly, dropping the phone into Molly's hand, and then biting hard upon her lip. Molly said something, but Alex couldn't decipher it; she couldn't work anything out, except that somehow she'd heard Gene, and it hadn't been like when she'd heard him before – he'd sounded old, tired, shattered... He had sounded just as she knew him to be in this time, and her heart hammered wildly in her chest at the striking realization.

A moment later she'd grabbed her coat from the hook and called half-heartedly up the stairs. "I'm going out!"

Almost instantly, Evan stepped out from the living room, looking stern and questioning as he spoke. "Where are you going?" He asked, glancing at his watch. "It's half ten at night! You can't possibly-!"

"I'll be back in the morning!" Alex insisted. "I've got to go and do something!"

"Alex, don't be stupid! You're still-!"

She didn't hear the rest of the sentence; she'd already grabbed the car keys and slammed out of the door.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It took her two minutes to decide where to go; her first port of call would always have been the flat – she had no idea where else he would be at this time of night, when most of the pubs were probably filled with inebriated and intoxicated youths... But then her heart hammered faster, she felt a sudden, familiar warmth across her stomach, and the next thing she knew she'd taken a sharp left without even realizing it, hitting the pedal to the floor as hard as she could at the same moment that she rummaged in the glove box for her warrant card.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Police!" She snapped, holding up her badge as she passed the inquisitive young nurse, then racing up the corridor to the lifts at the other end without another glance. She jammed the button hurriedly and repeatedly, brimming with impatience, until a moment later she let out a noise of frustration, pushing open the nearby door and racing up the three flights of stairs to the coma wards. She rushed past a young nurse, burst through a set of double doors, took a sharp right, and then followed the corridor down; she burst through the door of the room a few moments later, running forwards without any sign of hesitation.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The door slammed open, and Gene's head snapped round instantly, his eyes widening as Alex burst into the room, evidently out of breath, her hair in disarray and her smooth skin flushed pink with exertion. For a moment, it was all he could do to look at her, shock evident on his features, but a moment later he'd pushed to his feet, just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck in an embrace that almost knocked him straight down again, their lips finding each other instinctively, Gene's hand holding her head firmly to his, arms tight around her as he kissed her desperately, needily...

When they eventually broke apart, he clung onto her, holding her against his chest and breathing raggedly in her ear. "You heard me," he mumbled into her hair, inhaling lungful after lungful of her scent and pressing a hard kiss to her head. "You- bloody hell, Bols..." He kissed her mouth again, as if to clarify that she were truly there, ignorant of the strange way she eyed the sleeping body in the bed until he realized that she hadn't moved for several moments and glanced down at her, a worried frown on his features. "Bols?" He murmured softly. "You ok?"

She nodded absently, gulping hard, and then tore her eyes away from the sight of her older, withered self to meet his blue gaze. "Can we go?" She whispered softly, her hand finding his and tugging gently. Gene nodded instantly, but he froze a moment later, glancing indecisively from one Alex to the other.

He seemed wracked with indecision, swallowing hard several times, before, eventually, he apparently made his mind up; Alex frowned, but said nothing as he moved towards the bed, keeping her hand still in his, even as he smoothed the hair from the sleeping face and dropped a gentle kiss to the withering forehead; Alex instantly felt warmth on her skin, felt a shiver run down her spine, and let an unwitting yelp of surprise leave her lips as heated air seemed to wash over her face, warm, whiskey-scented breath overwhelming her sense of smell.

"Sorry," Gene mumbled apologetically as he straightened up, misinterpreting her yelp for something different and gently tugging her towards the door and swallowing hard. "Old habit..."

She shook her head, wetting her lips for a moment before speaking. "It's fine," she murmured softly. "I don't mind..." She shrugged, making a wry attempt at humour as she added, "it's not like it's anyone else..."

Gene glanced at her worriedly, forehead creasing into an uncertain frown, but he said nothing, leading her out of the room by the hand, and grimacing slightly as pain shot up his legs.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He collapsed onto the sofa with a loud grunt, and Alex could barely restrain her concern, hurrying into the kitchen under pretence of getting their drinks, and taking several moments to compose herself with deep, long breaths, before even considering reaching for the glasses.

He'd consented willingly to let her drive, leaving the Quattro parked around the corner from the hospital and settling into the passenger seat with an almost relieved expression on his face. He'd barely spoken the whole journey back, although his eyes remained fixed upon her face, his gaze intense and warm and causing her stomach to flip repeatedly. At the traffic lights, he'd leaned over, gently brushing her lips before drawing away; she'd been so taken aback by the gesture that she'd stalled, and the only recognition he gave was a gentle chuckle as the light turned green.

At the door to the flat he'd kissed her again, his mouth hard and insistent, hands desperate in her hair as he pushed himself against her, enveloping her in his embrace and sending shivers up her spine as he consumed her, overwhelmed her... He'd broken away with a groan, pushed open the door, and practically hobbled towards the sofa; the one time she'd asked what was wrong the whole while, he'd answered with a blunt "nothing", wound down a window and lit up a cigarette.

Now she stood in the kitchen, downing one whiskey in an attempt to quell the roiling worry that was churning her stomach repeatedly. She'd half-known, she thought, that he was ill; the desperation in his voice as it slipped through to her, the pain, the longing... She shivered, pouring them both a generous measure of scotch and taking a deep breath before walking into the living room, biting her lip at the sight of him.

His long legs were stretched in front of him, floppy grey hair falling back from his face, eyes closed and shirt loose. The jacket he'd worn was draped carelessly across the other end of the sofa, and a cigarette burned slowly in one hand, smoke lifting towards the ceiling as he snored gently on. Alex half smiled, quietly placing the glasses on the coffee table, stepping over his legs and sitting gingerly on the sofa, legs curled beneath her as her hands reached out to stroke a particularly striking wrinkle on his cheek. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake, the rhythm of his snores changing slightly as he subconsciously turned his face into her touch.

Alex simply sighed, tongue wetting her lips as she drank the sight of him in, her spare hand smoothing over the soft hair that fell back from his face. He was beautiful, she thought quietly, gently caressing his cheek as he gently slept on. She'd never tell him it of course, knowing full well what his reaction would be, but he was; the hair, the eyes, the lines of his face and the set of his mouth...He looked relaxed, calm, at peace, and she smiled to herself, leaning forwards to press a soft, whispering kiss to his forehead.

"Mmm," he murmured, stirring slightly, his voice heavy with sleep. "Wha'swrong?"

Alex smiled, shaking her head slowly, resting her forehead against his own. "Nothing," she assured him softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Nothing's wrong..." she waited a moment, watching in resigned amusement as he lifted the still-lit cigarette to his mouth, taking one drag before realizing it had burnt out, and exhaling to the side.

"You look tired," Alex said, looking at him concernedly as she gently traced his cheek with her fingers.

"Mmm," Gene nodded, leaning forwards to toss the cigarette butt in the ashtray, taking a swig of whiskey before settling back into the sofa, a small hiss of pain leaving his mouth as he shifted.

"Gene?" She asked worriedly, her hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowed questioningly. "Are you-?" She swallowed, changing tact as she spoke again. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Dunno," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer, eyes scanning her face carefully. "Are you offerin'?"

Alex rolled her eyes, reaching for his hand and lifting it gently to her lips. "I really think you could use the sleep," she answered, slipping from his hold and standing up, but keeping his hand in hers. "Come on," she murmured quietly. "You're shattered."

"Mmmm," Gene nodded in agreement, shuffling forward on the sofa and then pushing up to his feet with a soft grunt. "Course I am; I ain't been sleepin'."

She watched him for a few moments, seeing him grimace as his leg jarred, jaw tightening visibly before he met her eyes; he seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes imploring and gentle upon hers, and she could only nod, biting her lip and murmuring a simple, "me neither." She saw him gulp, saw him wet his lips with his tongue, felt his hand tighten on hers... then a moment later, he was walking with difficulty, leading her by the hand towards the bedroom without a word.

Alex bit her lip, swallowed, and then followed him in.

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"I didn't think you'd come," he murmured in her ear a while later. Alex smiled.

"Don't put yourself down," she yawned. "It was very good." She patted his arm lightly, and felt him chuckle, shaking his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair.

"You know what I meant," Gene replied, stroking down her back with his hand. "Didn't think you'd hear me."

Alex nodded, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as she did so. "I know," she murmured. "I wasn't sure I believed it at first..."

"But you still came?" He asked, looking down at her with tired interest.

She smiled, nodding again. "Call it curiosity," she murmured, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest. "Wanted to know if I was right..."

"Right?" Gene frowned. "Right about what?"

"About you," she yawned. "Us... connection..." She slipped her hand into his, kissing his neck gently as she smiled. "Go to sleep, Gene."

He was quiet, and Alex felt his eyes on her face for several moments before his arms tightened, his lips finding the shell of her ear, hand smoothing the silk of her hair as he spoke gently. "Thank you," he mumbled, kissing her cheek softly. His hand tracked her shoulders, her back, her neck, and he breathed gently against her skin. "You're warm," he mumbled, nuzzling at her neck. "Glad you're here..."

Alex swallowed hard, sliding her arm tighter around him and clenching her eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. If he noticed the warm wetness that slid onto his shoulder, he said nothing, arms enveloping her and nose buried in her hair as the pair of them drifted to sleep.

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"Alex..." His voice was soft, gentle, welcome, and Alex smiled to herself, burrowing closer into his embrace, hand stroking absently down his arms as she lay with him.

"Alex!" His voice was slightly more urgent this time, and she blinked her eyes open, glancing up at him and seeing a slight grimace on his features as he nodded down slightly. "You're lyin' on me bad leg," he grunted, hissing slightly as Alex moved to look, accidentally applying slightly more pressure. She jerked back instantly, fumbling apologetically as she sat up, attempting to extricate herself from him. He drew her instantly back, although he twisted her gently so that her head rested across his stomach, forcing her to move her legs away; she didn't mind, turning so that her cheek pressed against his flesh, her eyes turned towards his face as her hand found his.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly after a few moments of companionable quiet, during which his hand began to smooth and caress her hair and neck. Gene shrugged apathetically, turning his head slightly as he spoke.

"Nothin', Bols; I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes, dancing her fingers across his wrist as she kept her eyes fixed on his averted face. "You're an awful liar," she murmured softly, catching his fingers and brushing a kiss across each knuckle in turn. "Especially when you're naked."

He chuckled, shaking his head in slight exasperated amusement. "If I shove some clothes on, will you believe me?"

"No," she answered straight away, drawing his arm over her and settling comfortably in its hold, enjoying the warmth of his skin as she smiled against him.

"Shame," he mumbled, stroking her spine absently with his long fingers.

Alex waited for him to say something; when he didn't, she sighed, stroking down from his shoulder to his wrist. "I love you, Gene," she murmured, before sitting up and grabbing his shirt from the floor, dragging it around herself as he stayed where he was, his eyes following her as she slipped from the bed and padded around to his side. Leaning over him, Alex dropped a kiss to his forehead, sighing softly as his hand slipped to her waist. "You can trust me," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth with a warm tenderness, before heading out of the bedroom; a few seconds later, Gene could hear her moving around in the kitchen, boiling the kettle and making toast. He sighed softly, resting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

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She came back with a stack of toast and two cups of tea, carried on a tray that looked as though it might snap at any given moment. She settled the drinks on Gene's bedside table, then settled in the bed next to him, holding the plate of toast between them and watching worriedly as Gene awkwardly lifted himself to a sitting position, letting out slight grunts and hisses when his bones jarred, occasionally rubbing his chest. Alex didn't dare ask again, but the sight of him was almost too much; she knew he wouldn't admit it hurt, however much he hissed and grunted, but she wished more than anything that he would tell her what it was, make her understand why he'd so quickly deteriorated when just over a month ago he was on comparatively perfect form.

"Stop thinking," he growled, grabbing a piece of toast and biting a large chunk out of it. "It's too early in the bloody morning for you to be thinking." He pushed the slice he held at her mouth, and she obediently bit, chewing slowly and watching him take another large mouthful for himself. She swallowed, about to talk, but he stopped her, pushing the remaining toast between her lips and chuckling as she scowled at him, taking a bite and removing the toast a moment later.

"I wasn't thinking," she murmured. "I was just assessing the situation."

Gene snorted, grabbing another piece of toast and shaking his head. "Give over and eat yer toast, Bols; before it gets cold."

"I like it cold," Alex murmured, but took another bite anyway. Gene smirked to himself, dropping a kiss to her brow, and then turning back to his own toast, one arm thrown around her shoulder.

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She rested her head on his chest, legs angled away from Gene's as his arm draped over her stomach, his fingers gentle against her skin. His breathing was slightly uneven in her ear, and she listened to it with trepidation in her stomach, her hand tight against his own as she felt the unsteady thumpety-thump-thump of his heart beneath her ear.

"What's wrong?" She whispered softly, after a long while of silence.

Gene remained quiet, his hand stilling briefly on her back, before returning to its gentle caressing, warming the soft flesh as he spoke quietly. "Just old, Bolly," he told her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I just got old..."

Alex looked up at him, seeing the sadness in his eyes, the disappointment, the frustration... She bit her lip, reaching out to stroke his cheek and pressing gentle lips to the corner of his mouth. "You'll never be old to me, Gene," she murmured, closing her eyes and inhaling his smell. She felt his smile, felt his lips turn to brush her forehead, and then his hand slipped to her hair, combing through the locks gently.

"Still," he murmured, nose nuzzling gently at her cheek as his hand moved to dance across her collarbone, "it'd be an experience..."

"What would?" Alex frowned, glancing up into his tired face and seeing his smile as he answered her, hand on her waist as he spoke, chuckling.

"Shaggin' you in a zimmerframe," he quipped. She slapped him; Gene simply laughed.

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Alex awoke first, slipping from Gene's warm embrace and gathering his shirt back around her as she padded into the living room and through to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and crossing her arms over her chest. Gene had slept so soundly, she hadn't the heart to wake him when she glanced across to the digital clock, despite the fact it was almost three in the afternoon. He'd been exhausted, despite his apparent reluctance to sleep, and after a few soft words, he'd drifted off again, holding her close as he dreamt soundlessly. She'd dozed lightly, and when she came to again, Gene's arm rested only lightly around her shoulders, allowing her to slip out of his hold and head to the kitchen a few minutes later.

She poured two teas, adding several sugars in for Gene and mixing in a dash of milk before turning to leave the kitchen, cups in hand. She froze instantly in the doorway, her eyes falling on a pharmacy bag tossed carelessly on the side; for a moment, she was indecisive, biting her lip slightly in thought, before a soft groan of pain from the bedroom made her mind up for her.

She placed the cups down on the side, wetting her lips as she reached for the bag, tugging out an unopened box and turning it upwards so that the label was visible. She felt a chill creep over her bones as she read the label, felt her lip tremble and her knees shudder beneath her; she'd read it wrong, she told herself. She was just being silly, and when she looked back there'd be nothing but-

"Bols?" Gene's voice was questioning, gruff and rough with sleep, and Alex snapped around to look at him with tears in her eyes, wetting her lips as she held the box out to him.

"What are these for?" She asked, biting her lip and hoping to keep the quaver out of her voice as she watched Gene's eyes flicker from her hand to her face. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and then turned away, heading back to the bedroom without a word. Alex tossed them on the counter and followed him swiftly, heart hammering in her chest.

"Gene! Gene, don't go and-!"

He surprised her by turning around a moment later grabbing a jumper from the wardrobe and pulling it over his head before he stepped forwards, hands on her shoulders, eyes boring into her.

"Leave it, Bolly," he growled, eyes narrowed. "Just leave it."

"Gene, you're taking tablets for bone cancer, and you expect me to-!"

"I'm not bloody taking anything!" He retorted, pulling away and donning a pair of trousers, grimacing against a fresh wave of pain before pushing past her into the living area, brimming evidently with agitation and bristling with frustration.

"Well why not?" Alex snapped, waving her arm around as if for emphasis. "If you've been given drugs, Gene, you should be taking-!"

"Don't mother me, Alex!" Gene growled, turning to her with visible anger. "I've managed damn fine without you fer twenty-six years, so don't start tellin' me what I should and shouldn't do!"

"Don't start holding that against me!" She hissed, jabbing him in the chest. "I didn't ask you to wait around for that long! You were the one who started waving his gun about like a bloody toy!"

"You were the one who jumped in front of my bullet!" He retorted without thinking.

"Well you-!"

"Forget it, Alex!" Gene snapped suddenly, turning sharply on his heel and heading into the kitchen. Alex waited a few moments, bristling with indecision, and then followed him, slamming her hand down on the counter as he grabbed the drink she'd abandoned on the side and took a large gulp.

"No! No, you are not pulling the stroppy, moody, aggressive little shit routine with me again! It's not going to wash this time, Gene! I-!"

"Good," Gene murmured calmly, face turned away. Alex blanched, and then frowned.

"Good?" She repeated, brow crinkling.

"Yes." He nodded. "Good." He pushed off the counter, opened the cabinet over his head, and drew out a bottle of whiskey, splashing a large amount into his coffee.

"How is that go-?"

"I'm not asking it to wash, Alex," he growled, cracking his knuckles slightly. "I'm asking you ter drop it!"

"Gene, they could potentially save your-!"

"I said drop it, Bolly!" Gene snapped, slamming his hand down heavily on the counter. "I don't need a bloody therapy session from Lucien Freud! Just leave it!"

Alex bristled, pulling his shirt tighter around her as she spoke through her clenched jaw. "How do you expect to get any better, if you refuse to take the pills they give you?"

"Who said anything about getting better?" He murmured, picking up his coffee and sipping quietly, his eyes turned away as he swallowed back a wave of guilt, sensing Alex's eyes on him as she stepped closer, her breath shaking.

"What d'you mean?" She asked, hesitantly placing a hand on his arm and flinching as he pulled it out of reach. "You don't-?"

"I'm old, Bolly," he muttered, turning away and facing the wall, his face solemn and etched with pain as he spoke. "No point denying it."

"But you're not that-!"

Gene cut her off, shaking his head as he spoke. "Don't, Bolly," he murmured, swallowing a large mouthful of coffee and grimacing. "I'm older than a fossil, an' probably as borin'; growin' old and wise ain't all it's cracked up to be..."

"You're not old, you're just-!"

"Bols," he murmured, turning to her and cupping her face with his hands in a sudden, tender gesture that surprised her out of her frustration.

His forehead rested on hers, and a moment later he whispered a soft, quiet, "don't."

For a moment, Alex said nothing, feeling her breath shudder and her lip tremble... A second later her hands were in his hair, pulling his face to hers as tears streamed down her face; Gene didn't even bother to resist, gathering her closer as the warm droplets grazed his lips, eyes clenched shut while Alex clung to him almost desperately, her kiss hard and insistent as she sobbed in his arms. His only move was to steer her into the living room, lowering her to the sofa and allowing her to curl into his arms, her breathing ragged and sobs wrenching; he said nothing, lips hard against her forehead as he waited for the tears to subside.

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"Is it bad?"

She spoke softly, cutting through the stretch of silence with a voice that was so tentatively scared, Gene felt his stomach twist with pain. Her arms tightened around him, the pressure of her hands on his back almost doubling as she bit back another wrenching set of sobs.

"Dunno," Gene murmured, shrugging slightly and pressing a gentle kiss to her scalp, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and smiling tiredly to himself. He felt her frown, felt her turn her head slightly, and a few seconds later she drew away, frowning up at him in confusion.

"What do you mean you don't know?" She asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Didn't they tell you? They should've told you what-!"

"They did," Gene sighed, tugging her back against him and grimacing only slightly as his knee cramped up.

"Well what did they say?" Alex demanded impatiently, moving to pull away; Gene dragged her straight back, sighing slightly as he did so.

"Well, when I went an' 'ad a scan two years ago, they said it was pretty bad..." he trailed off awkwardly, swallowing hard, then a moment later Alex was glaring accusingly at him, and Gene could only sigh, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette; she snatched it from his fingers and tossed it across the room.

"What the-?"

"You've got cancer, Gene! You can't just smoke like a chimney and expect it to all be alright! You're-!"

"Old," Gene said calmly meeting her eyes, although his voice was tinged with slight annoyance. "Get me my fag, Bols."

"I'm not letting you smo-!"

"Bols, do you really think it's going to stop the cancer if I miss this one bloody fag? I smoke like a chimney in the Black Country; just give us me fag, 'ey?"

"But-!"

"Alex..." His tone was tired, warning and exasperated, and Alex got up with a sigh, watching him sadly and then collecting the cigarette from where it had fallen behind the coffee table.

"They're bad for you," Alex whispered, settling back on the sofa as Gene lit up. "They'll end up killing you."

"I'm already dead, Bols," he murmured, resting his head back on the sofa and holding an arm out expectantly; she hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, then settled into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder.

"You're not dead," she whispered back, resting her hand on his chest. "You're still here..."

"Almost," Gene answered, taking a large drag on his cigarette.

"You're not-!"

"I'm 'ere fer now, Bols," he muttered, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Just fer now..."

"But not forever?" She asked, voice cracking.

"Not for long," he murmured. He kissed her lightly, putting off her questions with a gentle brush of his own lips against hers; Alex felt herself shiver, felt her blood run cold, and moments later she was huddled into him, her arms clasped tight around his body as his fingers traced gently and absently through her hair.

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**.... Hope it was alright...**

**Mage of the Heart**


	21. Only When You Leave

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**I'm not sure about this chapter, so feedback is appreciated - tipping the scale from wierd to freaky a little, so fingers crossed it's ok!**

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Alex remained where she was, curled into Gene's body as she trembled with nerves and trepidation; Gene stayed still and quiet, his soft snores rhythmic and companionable as he slept gently at her side. She didn't move to wake him, savouring the peace and comfort he radiated and snuggling into it with a willingness and need that surprised her, even as it warmed the pit of her stomach.

She'd known it was coming, really; she'd known the moment his voice had broken across the ether and reached her ears, known the second he'd kissed her so fiercely in the hospital, the moment he'd opened his arms and let her in... But somehow she still wasn't prepared, still felt cheated, hurt, at a complete loss. There was pain in her body that went well beyond anything physical; her chest was tight with pain, and her limbs were heavy with exhaustion that stemmed only from the overwhelming need to stay here with Gene, to lie without question in his arms and make sure that however long he had was as comfortable as it could be... But she wouldn't; she couldn't. Both of them knew that. His arms were tight around her shoulder, his body warm and breath hot against her skin, but still she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of impending loss; his actions, his words, his very being – all of them were etched with pain and defeat so nauseatingly evident that her head spun with the force of it.

"Bolly..." his mumble was quiet, barely even coherent as his arms drew her tighter, as his sleep-riddled form settled against hers, nose nuzzling into her hair as he spoke, his voice heavy with sleep and warmth as he made a soft noise of contentment, drifting back into deep slumber as Alex pressed her face into his neck, blinking back the hot flow of tears that raced down her cheeks.

She'd known this moment was coming; known it, because he wouldn't have called her back otherwise, because he'd have convinced himself she had to live her life, be young, free, independent and motherly... She sighed, sniffing slightly and shuffling slightly closer into his arms, her eyes closed as she took another deep breath of his scent.

"I love you," she whispered into the quiet of the room; he stirred, nuzzling her head lightly as his hand moved gently up her spine.

"Mmm..." he mumbled, eyes still closed, voice still drowsy and on the brink of slumber once again. "S'good... you too, Bols..." he yawned, tugging her tightly into his hold. "Go to sleep..."

"Do you want to use the bedro-?" She stopped, smiling as Gene slipped smoothly back into his sleep. "Never mind," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Sleep well..."

She settled back into his hold, sighing softly as the afternoon sun trickled through the window of the flat, lightly up Gene's face with soft light and illuminating every line, every crease, every wrinkle; she shivered slightly, pressed another kiss to the shell of his ear, then slipped one arm across his chest, closing her eyes despite being fully aware of her inability to sleep any more, his smell and warmth overwhelming as she listened silently to the lull of his breathing. The only thought that broke through the gentle cocoon he wrapped her in was the simple, terrifying knowledge that she couldn't stand losing him again.

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"You will let me know if anything changes, won't you?" Alex whispered, her lips against his ear as he stood before her at the door, his arms tight around her back. "You'll call me? Or write, or something? Won't you?"

She felt him swallow, felt his brief nod and the warmth of his lips as he pressed his mouth to her forehead, and then closed her eyes as Gene spoke. "You'll know," he mumbled, stroking her hair. "You know bloody everything..."

"Gene, I'm serious; please just-!"

"Ok," he interrupted softly, gently covering her mouth with his hand and meeting her eyes. "Ok... I'll tell you."

She nodded, sinking back into his embrace and clinging to him as his lips gently caressed her temple, his breathing slightly ragged as his hand slipped up over her back. She was gripped with a sudden coldness, her muscles clamming up as she remained firmly in his arms, her breath rasping and grieving as she bit down on her lip, words spilling forth before she could stop them. "Gene, I can't do this again – I can't. Please, please don't make me leave again; I can't, I can't leave without y-!"

"Shhh," he murmured, stroking her hair and resting his head on hers with a shuddering breath. "Drive me to the hospital, 'ey? Need to get me car... You don't 'ave to leave..."

She bit back tears, felt the bitter sting of realization as she looked at him; she wouldn't have to leave, because he would do it for her. A sob broke unbidden from her lips, and a moment later she was sobbing into his shoulder, feeling his frail yet still surprisingly strong arms envelop her in an embrace that shielded everything else from existence.

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Gene sat with her quietly for several minutes as she parked up, his hand catching hers as the engine stilled and she rested her head back against the seat, her lower lip trembling with unsaid words and unvoiced emotions; he leaned over swiftly, belying the bitterly fresh wave of pain that overwhelmed him as his leg cramped and his chest tightened to capture her lips with his.

She responded instinctively, hands in his hair, mouth hard against his, tears tracking swiftly down her cheeks; when he pulled away, he was grimacing, his eyes bright with moisture that had nothing to do with the pain in his body, but more with the wrenching, heart-rendering wave of grief that tore at his very soul. His eyes bore into hers, seeing the bare bones of her existence, accepting them with such openness that her mouth opened before she had even considered it.

"Gene, I lov-"

"I know," he whispered, nodding and cupping her cheek, wetting his lips slightly as his fingers tangled in her hair. "I know, Alex... you don't- you don't have to tell me anymore; I know..."

Her lip trembled, and she nodded, whispering softly as his hand entwined their fingers together. "Good," she answered, wetting her lips. "Good... that's – that's good..." She trailed off, biting down on her lower lip for a moment and watching as Gene's eyes flickered from her eyes to her mouth. She shivered slightly, breathing deeply as his finger traced across her bottom lip intimately.

"You're beautiful," he murmured quietly, sounding almost bewildered as he began moving to kiss her again, his breath hot on her skin; she trembled, lips barely brushing his before she whispered gently into his mouth.

"I know you know," she whispered, stroking her hand through his grey hair and hearing her voice quiver with emotion. "I know that... but I have no idea if I'll ever be able to say it again..."

Gene stilled slightly, his eyes on hers, face barely an inch away, swallowing hard as he met her tearful gaze. "Alex, I-"

"I love you," she whispered, cutting him off, her hand on his cheek as she moved closer, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips before she went on, voice soft and quiet; if he hadn't been so close, he probably wouldn't have heard her at all. "And I won't ever be able to tell you enough... It could never be enough..."

Gene's eyes softened, and a moment later he nodded, wetting his mouth and resting his head lightly against her own. "You're more than enough, Bols," he murmured. "You always were..."

A second later, he'd kissed her again, and without question she knew it was the last time; she ached with pain, longing, grief and love, and she felt every emotion reflecting back at her, could taste his need, his pain, and his bitterness that this would be the last, just as clearly as she could taste her own. It was tender, quietly desperate, horrifically poignant, and when he tried to draw back she held him tight, tears streaming down her face at speed as he let out a sharp hiss, drawing her in close, hand tight on her hip, lips searing against her own.

"I love you," she whispered again, never letting her mouth leave his, keeping contact as she murmured into his lips. "Please," she kissed him warmly tears falling onto their lips as she shook her head. "I can't- I can't do this again," she was sobbing, gently taking his lips with hers as she shook her head, crying shamelessly. "I need you to stay," she whispered, "please don't go! Please!"

"Have to..." Gene mumbled, kissing her again, lips gentling against hers as his hand combed through her hair. "Car's gunna get clamped an' towed..."

Despite herself, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks and the painful constriction of her chest, Alex found herself laughing, sniffling as she rested her head against his, briefly touching their lips together. "Right," she whispered, nodding, a small smile on her lips. "Well, you should probably move the car..."

He watched her, eyes intense as he answered. "I meant metaphorically," he murmured.

Her eyes widened slightly, pain etched into her irises and she cupped his face swiftly, shaking her head. "Don't talk like that," she whispered. "Don't talk like-"

"Bye Bols," he murmured, tugging her back to him and touching his lips against hers; a moment later he was out of the car, and Alex could only watch, sobbing quietly as he moved slowly but determinedly in the direction of the double doors that opened into the main hospital. She watched as he disappeared, hot tears spilling from her eyes and down her face, filled with a hopeless, heartbreaking certainty that she wouldn't see him again.

It was half an hour later, when the tears had subsided enough for her to see the dashboard and the road in front of her, that she turned the key in the ignition, still gasping slightly, and knowing there would only be a certain amount of time before the grief would come again, before heartbreak would descend like a predator and tear at her chest until she could feel nothing but pain.

As the engine sounded, roaring into life and breaking through the haze of silence that had descended upon her, she heard a familiar voice in her ear, felt a warmth on her cheek, a gentle, teasing touch at her chin as it sounded, gruff with emotion and tinged with pain that echoed her own.

"I love you too, Bolly," he murmured, cracking slightly, and she could feel his hitch of breath as warm air seemed to tease her skin.

Against her will, Alex let out a ragged sob, the guttural pain ripping through her as she covered her mouth, body wracking with the force of her grief as she made a split-second decision, putting the car into reverse as quickly as possible and tearing off down the road without thought; when she ran through the front door, she didn't bother to greet Evan, instead running to the safety of her bedroom, listening to the gentle thump of Molly's music in the room next door, before sobbing hopelessly into her pillow, the shirt that had long-since lost all semblance of Gene's smell clutched tightly against her chest.

On the other side of town, still sat at the hospital, Gene clung to the other Alex's hand, his breathing harsh and etched with pain as she slept quietly on.

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It took two weeks; two weeks of pain and longing, of waiting, hoping, and praying... two weeks before she knew, in a sudden, prolonged, blinding flash of pain, that it was over.

It wasn't what she'd expected; she'd been waiting to feel something, waiting for a sudden hole to form in her chest – a hole that she knew would never be filled, leaving only a horrible, aching gap, a pain that shot through her heart and burned at her throat, and that she'd have to carry with her for the rest of her days... But it wasn't like that at all.

She'd heard tell of people who knew when someone was hurt; twins, she knew, had often been known to instantly recognize danger and death to their other self, but this- this was beyond that, and she knew it the moment it started.

They were shopping in the centre of London, with Molly berating the seventy-five pound high heels Alex refused to buy her, and Evan complaining about the congestion in Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon.

Evan had practically dragged her out, after spending every day of the last week attempting to get her to leave the house, whilst Molly had simply sat with her, not saying much at all, doing little except to occasionally crawl into Alex's arms and whisper for her to smile; in the end, it was Molly that had changed her mind, and she'd joined them for her sake, as much as to stop Evan berating her. She had since regretted it, having spent the last hour being bustled along by the crowd, caught in the flow as Molly led them determinedly towards H&M, and hoping that they could leave soon.

She'd been calling for Molly to slow down, shaking her head in exasperation and hoping that they wouldn't have to stay too long when she felt it; a horrible, sickening, stabbing pain that cut through her chest like an ice-cold blade, driving through flesh and striking between her rib cage as she gasped for breath, hand clutching at her breast as she struggled to speak, feeling sickening, dizzying pain that made her vision blur and her mouth dry up.

She could hear Evan's concerned voice, heard a sharp noise of frustration followed by a panicked question as Molly dashed back towards them, but she could see nothing; she felt Evan catch her as she swayed and nearly fell, heard a panicked shout for an ambulance as the crowd fell away, but then a moment later she was out cold, and the only thing she could feel was her thundering heart as it fought against the invisible blade that seemed to have embedded itself in her chest.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

She could hear voices; she could hear them, but when she opened her eyes, there was nobody there; a hurried call for an oxygen mask, a shout for morphine, a yell for a bed, and a voice that brought a surge of hope, despite the fact she'd never heard it before, all seemed to come from nowhere.

"Don't bloody die you daft bastard," the voice growled. "It'll be just my luck your bird wakes up and castrates me with a wooden spoon!"

She panicked instantly, searching the room she was in for any sign of life; there was an empty chair in the corner, a television to the left of the hospital bed, and an unoccupied bedside table; a door across the room showed a corridor, and she could just make out Evans head, see him talking to a dark-haired doctor, who looked agitated and rushed. Molly stood in the circle of Evan's arms, clinging to him helplessly, and a moment later, Alex moved to get up, slipping from the bed and standing up straight.

Her legs crippled beneath her, the pain in her chest returned, and she could just make out a panicked female cry before she blacked out again.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Doctor Ben Foreman saw her fall at the same moment that her daughter did; he was through the doors in seconds, lifting her into his arms and returning her to the bed as her panicked daughter and godfather stood nearby, the teenager crying into the man's shoulder as she pleaded with him to make her Mum better...

He hated this part of the job; this part, where he had no idea what was wrong, no idea what she needed, and no idea what to tell her daughter – it happened all too often. Men came in begging him to save their wives, women came in pleading for their sons and daughters to be alright, and time and again there was no explanation, nothing he could do; psychological, some might say- they just gave up fighting... But he didn't buy into it; young people with families didn't just give up fighting – people like Alex Drake didn't double over in the street simply because they couldn't be bothered anymore.

He'd checked her records the moment they'd dragged him down here- it wasn't even his shift for Christ's sake!- and he'd sent her in for a brain scan; there was nothing. No stray shard of bullet that they'd missed, no metal drilled into her brain that was stopping her functioning. Her vitals were healthy, strong, almost youthful, and yet for some reason her heart hammered without pause, pounding out a hundred and eighty beats a minute as though she were having a fit... but she wasn't – at least not outwardly, not yet; she'd barely even moved the whole time she was unconscious, except for a few spasmodic clutches at the blankets they'd tucked around her; her breathing was ragged, and yet there was no outward sign as to why...

It didn't make any sense; it never did.

His pager bleeped, and a quick glance at it was enough; he moved into the corridor, beckoned a nurse, requested a blood test, and then raced up the corridor and the staircase as fast as he could, ignoring all sense of hospital decorum as he hurried into the room he'd seen Gene in so many times; but despite having seen it all only a few hours before, he still froze in his tracks.

They'd brought in a new bed on Ben's request; he'd found Gene three hours ago, bent double, clutching at his chest, eyes wide, body riddled with pain, and he'd known without doubt that any offer of treatment that took him away from her would be refused – he suspected that even if Gene Hunt were to slip into a coma himself, he'd still find a way to scare his nurses half to death if they so much as threatened to move him from her; it should have been endearing, but Ben had realized all too long ago that Gene's devotion would probably be his downfall.

Now, Gene was laying in the bed, practically unconscious, though his eyes darted beneath his lids, body going rigid and relaxed in all too frequent intervals, the fingers of one hand clutching at the duvet and fisting it tightly; the other clenched around that of the comatose woman at his side, a woman who seemed vaguely familiar for reasons he couldn't understand, and Ben managed a slight sigh of exasperated resignation, before heading over to the bed and glancing at Gene's heart rate; it was sky-rocketing, and he bit back a gulp – a hundred and eighty beats per minute in a seventy two year old man was never good.

"He needs sedative and oxygen," Ben muttered to a nurse nearby, glancing at Gene's sweat covered brow and grimacing. "And somebody get him a cold flannel; I could cook pancakes on his forehead!"

"Alex..." the grinding voice broke through the panic of the room, and Ben's forehead knitted together as Gene spoke, voice ragged and sharp, yet filled with concern that cut through whatever delirium the fever was bringing on.

"Gene," Ben murmured, moving closer and clicking his hands in front of Gene's face. "Gene, can you hear me?

"Alex... where's Alex?" the pain in his voice was evident, and as his body tightened with his spasms Ben heard the hiss of agony that left his lips, jarring up his leg as Ben motioned for the nurse to hurry up.

"She's here," he assured him, reaching over and squeezing at Gene's hand, still joined with Alex's despite his pain. "See? She's right-"

"No!" His voice was rasping, ragged, ripped from his throat as he groaned and shook his head. "Other Alex... My Alex... Alex... where's Alex?"

Ben swallowed, glancing at the nurse and seeing her look of bafflement as she glanced at him. "Alex is right here with-!"

Gene was shaking his head again, sweat pouring from his brow as he spoke, hissing and gasping as he went. "No, other Alex – need both... my Alex... Bols... Bols... I need Bols..." There was a note of agitation in his voice, a raging, aching need that struck at Ben's chest and ripped at his heart.

"Gene, Alex is-!"

"Molly," he managed. "Molly... she's got a daughter... Molly..."

"Gene, she isn't-!"

The door burst open, and Ben's head snapped up, his hand still squeezing at Gene's, trying to show him against all hope that she was there with him. The trainee doctor at the door was panicked and confused, and Ben bit back a snap of agitation as the younger man struggled for breath, stuttering several times before finally managing to speak.

"Alex- Alex Drake's fitting; we can't stop her- we've given her a sedative that should've knocked her out cold but she just won't stop! She's just-!"

"Alex?" Gene's voice was tinged with fear, hope, and something else that Ben couldn't quite place. "Alex – my Alex – that's her – my Al-!"

"Gene, it's not her," Ben murmured, attempting to keep his voice level as he glanced back at Gene's face; he was rigid with pain, sweating buckets, and the shirt he wore was sticking to him like glue, but there was a look of hope that lit up his features, his eyes flickering slightly open as he glanced around to no avail.

"Alex – it's her... Alex Drake... My Alex – it's her, it's-!"

"Ben, they're asking for you now; Parkers in ICU, James is over at Wakefield ward, and god knows where Andy's buggered off to but I can't find him for shit!" The young trainee was panicked, and Ben nodded, glancing worriedly at Gene.

"I'll be there in two minutes; check her vitals, try and keep her heart rate down, and make sure she's got oxygen!" He saw the hesitation on his colleagues face, and then snapped, his face angry and frustrated. "I'll be there, Rod, just go and do your bloody job!"

"But-!"

"NOW!"

Rod was out of the door a moment later, and instantly Ben turned on Gene, glancing worriedly at his heart rate; it was a wonder that he could still breathe, let alone speak. "Gene, if you're dead when I get back I swear to God I'll bring you back myself and kick ten shades of shit into that stupid-!"

"Alex?" Gene asked again, shaking his head, body writhing so forcibly that he kicked the sheets away. "Where's-? Get Alex! I need-!"

"Gene, I promise you, it isn't her – it can't be bloody her! You're feverish, you're delusional, and I promise you there is no way on this God forsaken earth that it's -!"

"Brown hair," Gene hissed. "Hazel eyes... great tits... Is it-?"

"Gene, she's here with you now – she's right here! What do you want me to do? I can't just-!"

"She's there," he argued, shaking his head gasping and attempting to wet his cracking lips with a tongue that seemed paper dry. "Downstairs... S'her- know it's her... can hear 'er... is she-? she's ok?"

"It isn't-!"

"Tell 'er... tell 'er I love 'er..."

"Gene, she's here!" Ben retorted. "Tell her yourself! I have to-!"

"The other one!" he growled back, muscles going into spasm and great hisses of pain escaping his mouth, clutching one hand to his chest as he bit back groans of pain. "That Alex – _my _Alex!"

"She's not-!"

"She's got a daughter," he gasped, his nails digging into his chest, eyelids flying open and widening madly as pain tore through his body; Ben could only grimace – the morphine should have kicked in by now, surely? He shook his head and focused on Gene, waiting to convince him.

"Birthmark on 'er face," Gene mumbled, "godfather called Evan..."

Ben stopped in his tracks, halting in his plan to deny that it could possibly be her as his mind's eye scanned back to the girl in Alex Drake's room; birthmark on her face, clutching onto her Godfather called-

"Shit!" He whispered. "How the hell d'you know all-?"

"Just- tell 'er!" Gene growled, head slamming back against the pillow as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Ben stared, nonplussed, glancing at the eerily unmoving woman in the bed next to Gene's and blanching as he realized that she did seem familiar; familiar, but older than he'd have expected...

"Is she your daught-?"

"No she is bloody not!" he gasped agitatedly, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Just go and-!"

"Gene, I'm not just-!"

"Just go!"

There was a time he'd have disobeyed; there was a time he'd have told Gene where to go, and that he could shove whatever argument he was about to spout out right up his arse, because he wouldn't leave him on his own... But something made him listen; something in the desperate, haunted, aching look on Gene's face, and a moment later he'd squeezed Gene's hand, and was running out of the room at a pace; as the door closed behind him, he heard Gene's relieved 'thank you', caught the groan of pain that left his lips, but he left him anyway, feeling a horrible, aching realization that he'd forgotten to say goodbye, that he might not be able to, even as he raced down the stairs and through numerous winding corridors to the other Alex Drake.

He ran with a speed and foreknowledge that needed no conscious thought; the only thought in his mind was Gene's desperate final plea, and the haunting knowledge that it might already be too late.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Her heart was practically forcing itself from her chest, and as she came back to consciousness she could feel her muscles tightening, feel them relaxing and shuddering, sending her into spasms beyond her control, her body thrashing against her will as she cried out in pain; she could hear Molly, she could hear Gene, she could hear that comforting panicked voice that sounded so lost and confused.

The argument seemed fragmented, but she knew that she heard it word for word; disjointed sentences, raised voices, agitation, anger... and pain; pain beyond anything she could remember ever having felt in her whole life, pain that wasn't just hers. She could see things that weren't there, hear voices of people who weren't in the room, and she could feel Gene; his hand in hers, clenching and fisting as he writhed in pain... And it wasn't right. How could she feel it? How could she hear him? How could she be in so much unspeakable agony when there was nothing wrong with her?

And then she was blind, deaf, absent of all but feeling as her brow dripped with sweat and her throat went raw with pain. Her legs screamed in agony, her heart hammered violently, and then everything was gone except for three rasping words that broke through the silence of the ether, tearing at her eardrums and loosing a wrenching sob that ripped at the muscles in her throat; "I'll miss you."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He was in the room minutes later, and though he knew time was rapidly running out, he froze; he froze at the sight of her, because she was moving just as Gene had moved, writhing and spasming, crying out whenever her left leg went too rigid, head thrown back and eyes rolling all too familiarly. She was sweating profusely, tossing and turning and sobbing with pain, silent screams torn from her throat as tears spilled from her eyes. The drip that had been put in her arm had been yanked free, the veins in her slender arms popped out against the smooth alabaster flesh, and Ben could barely breathe, freezing where he was as he swallowed hard.

He'd seen things on the job before that freaked him out; a mother who knew two hours before it was reported that her husband had had a car accident, a twin who hadn't spoken to their sibling in three years, but arrived almost immediately when he was admitted with kidney failure... It had all freaked him out, but this was something else entirely; every movement was familiar and alien, identical and yet different, and it took him several moments before he could even bring himself to think, let alone move.

When he did, it was slowly, almost tentatively, and with a lump in his throat that held neither reason nor understanding; she kept thrashing, groaning, sobbing, crying, and even when he touched her hand she seemed oblivious, hands fisting into the blankets as she went on, her black beaded bracelet coated with sweat.

"Alex?" Ben swallowed, glancing at the door, then moving as close to her face as he could without being hit by her flailing body and limbs. "Alex, can you hear me?" He gulped, looking back towards the corridor, and then speaking again. "Alex, I know you don't know me, but- but-"

He stopped suddenly as her heart rate went off the scale, her body juddering, shaking, trembling, and then, as suddenly as it started, it had stopped, beeping rapidly for a few moments, then flat-lining; the thrashing stopped and the beep went on continuously and without pause, and Ben could only stare as her body went limp, an incoherent whisper on her lips before the door opened.

"I've got the seda-!"

"Get up to the Drake room," Ben whispered, a horrible feeling clutching at his chest.

Rod frowned, glancing worriedly at Alex in the bed. "We're in the-!"

"The other Drake room! The one we were in a minute ago!"

"But-!"

"Now!" Ben's shout left no room for argument, and instantly Rod had left, tearing up the corridor, even as the finality of the flat line pressed down on Ben's ears.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Did she know Gene Hunt?"

Ben broke the silence tentatively, his hands wrapped around the cup of coffee in his hands, attempting to ignore the sobs as Molly Drake cried into Evan's shoulder, and trying desperately to block out the silent tears that fell down Evan's face and tracked into his beard...

He recognized instantly the look of alarmed surprise in Evan's eyes as he voiced his question, saw the rise and fall of his Adam's apple before the other mans eyebrows knitted together. "How do you-?"

"He was here," Ben explained softly, glancing into his coffee cup and biting back bile. "He- he passed away, this afternoon... as well..." he wet his lips, wondering exactly how much he should divulge, and then added, softly, "he was asking after an Alex, and I- I wondered if it was her..."

Evan swallowed, nodding slowly. "They met briefly," he murmured, his arms tightening around Molly as she clenched the same small, beaded bracelet in her hand that had been around her mother's wrist only hours previously, her fingers counting each bead individually, as though it would help bring her back... He could hardly bear to watch as Molly slipped it onto her wrist, holding her hand to her chest and crying harshly, and instead Ben looked at Evan, finding his authoritative, yet grieving countenance to be far more bearable than the sight of the weeping girl who sat in his arms.

"Her parents died when she was young," Evan went on, wetting his lips with his tongue and swallowing once more. "A car bomb went off and- Hunt was the DCI on the case... They met a few months ago, as far as I know..."

"Were they close?" Ben pressed slightly, feeling his eagerness bubble in his stomach and yet failing to quell it despite the grief that wracked Evan's features; he didn't appear to mind. In fact, Ben might have gone so far as to say he looked relieved to speak about her.

"Not particularly, I don't think," Evan shrugged, shaking his head. "He was just a piece of her past that she needed to meet... I'm pretty sure they only met once or twice."

"Really?" Ben's voice was tinged with disbelief, and it showed, as Evan frowned noticeably.

"What do you mean?"

He swallowed, glancing at Molly, and then rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward motion. "He was- he wanted me to pass on a message... Said there were two Alex's and she was the one I should talk to..."

Evan nodded, wetting his lips again. "Alex Drake – other one, I mean... she worked with him - on the same case, in fact; he shot her, and she never woke up... He still comes every day, as far as I know..."

"But this was specifically for his- I mean, for _your_ Alex... not that Alex- he was very clear; very persuasive..." Ben's voice was insistent, and he swallowed slightly as Evan nodded in understanding.

"He could be like that," he agreed. "What did he say?" Evan's voice was only faintly curious, and Ben watched as he smoothed Molly's hair flat, murmuring hushed words into her ear before glancing back at Ben; he faltered, opening and closing his mouth several times before he shook his head, shrugging slightly.

"Just- just talking about life... Just life and... and- and stuff like that, I think..." he trailed off, taking a large gulp of coffee and hoping Evan wouldn't be interested in any further questions; he wasn't. A moment later, the older man had nodded, gently standing and helping Molly to her feet as he held out a hand for Ben.

"Thank you," he murmured, swallowing slightly. "I erm- I-" He gulped, and then shook his head helplessly. "Thank you," he repeated.

Ben nodding, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly, swallowing hard. "I know it doesn't mean much, but, if I could've helped her, I promise I-!"

"I understand," Evan assured him, swallowing hard as he glanced down the corridor towards the room they had left Alex in. "She wasn't- she hadn't been looking after herself..." He sounded pained, as if he blamed himself, and Ben swallowed back a wave of sympathy as he listening. "She wasn't sleeping... not eating, crying at all hours... She just- just packed up; I understand." He glanced down at Molly, and then nodded again at Ben. "Thank you... we'd better get going."

Ben nodded, watching as the two of them walked down the corridor, the teenage girl supported by her godfather as she clung to his jacket, her sobs resonant and shaking.

"You and me, Scrap," he heard Evan murmur, dropping a kiss to her head as he pushed open the double doors. "Just you and me..."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

**Ok, so I admit I kind of took a little bit of inspiration from Star Wars Episode III (my uncles and father taught me well lol) but anyway... I'm not sure whether this works; it works in my head and it seemed to read ok, but any tips and pointers would be welcome. I may just have tipped this thing from weird to just plan fucking freaky! **

**Anyway, let me know! **

**Mage of the Heart**


	22. Secrets of the Future

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**000000**

Her hearing returned first.

She heard the distinct, profoundly long beep of a heart monitor, and found herself wondering where it came from as the one at her side kept quietly working, beeping steadily along with the small pulse in her neck that she could feel on the edge of her periphery senses... She heard chaos, yelling, strangely familiar voices, but then it was gone, and she felt oddly relieved, as the slight ache in her head seemed to relax slightly against the burgeoning pressure on her temples.

Next to return was her sense of smell, slowly filtering through her nostrils and bringing her more firmly to consciousness with gentle wafts of scent. First, there was the distinct smell of hospitals - not surprising, really, she mused, breathing through her nose slightly deeper and inwardly blinking with surprise as the now familiar smell assaulted her senses; Old Spice, soap and cigarettes. A smile tugged at her lips, her hand groping blindly at things she couldn't feel as she searched in vain for his hand, hearing the quickening pace of the heart machine as she moved. She felt her breathing hitch, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, and a moment later she was panicking, trembling on the brink of hysteria as she fought to speak.

"Gene? Gene! Gene, where are you?" Her voice cracked with panic, quavering horribly, and hot tears spilled from her eyes as she searched again with her hand. "Gene! Gene I can't see! Gene, Gene, please – please, I can't see! Gene, I-"

She suddenly became aware of warmth on her stomach, an arm thrown across her waist, and hair beneath her fingers; hair that she clung on to, tightening her grip as she tried not to panic, tried not to worry if she'd ever see again... And then he moved; his hand covered hers – warm, rough and large, prying her fingers gently from his hair and tangling their hands together as he went. "Bloody 'ell..." He sounded as though he had just woken up, and his voice was riddled with surprise and alarm. "Bols, you- I..." She heard him swallow, and then he spoke again, quietly.

"I'll get the nurse, Bols," he murmured, squeezing gently at his hand; his voice was gruff, ridden with sleep and tiredness, and there was a slight note of panic in his voice, but she didn't care, clinging to him hopelessly as she shook her head, sobbing slightly as she squeezed back at his hand.

"No, Gene, please don't go – please don't go! Don't leave me! Press the button – they'll come soon! Just don't leave me!" The tears were falling thick now, and she could feel the panic in her voice, sense Gene's indecision before he spoke again, his voice tentative.

"What button?" He asked, evidently confused.

"The nurse button, the little red button – please don't leave, Gene, please! I-!"

He moved, cutting her off as his large hands framed her face; she could feel them, cupping her cheeks almost nervously, thumb stroking tentatively across her face, his warm breath filling her nostrils and warming her skin. "I'll get the nurse, Bols," he repeated, voice cracking noticeably; she heard him gulp, felt a moment of hesitance, then he went to stand.

"No!" She whimpered, grappling blindly for his hands and holding his wrists tight. "Use the button, Gene, please don't go! Please I-!"

"Alex!" He interrupted, his breath hitching against her face; she heard him swallow hard, heard his sharp intake of breath, and then he spoke, his tone almost quizzical, tentative; his thumb traced the curve of her eyebrow and she felt herself shiver as his warm smell intoxicated her. "Alex," he murmured again, voice softer now, "look at me..."

"I can't see, Gene!" She panicked again, and she felt him hesitate, apparently uncertain about something, before he spoke softly, his voice almost amused as his thumb traced her eyelid.

"Bols... maybe you should open your eyes..."

"Don't tell me to-!"

"Alex," Gene murmured softly. "They're closed tighter than a Nun's legs in a brothel house; just open your eyes."

"I can't! They won't-!"

"Alex," he whispered, and she was struck by how very close he now sounded, how gentle his touch became; it was soothing, and for a moment the hysteria died away, replaced by total comfort as he spoke softly to her. "Just trust me," he murmured, moving closer; she could feel his hair tickle her face, and then a moment later his lips touched gently to each eyelid in turn, and she shivered, remembering the last time he'd done this, stood at the door of the flat as he kissed her goodbye...

"Look at me," he murmured softly; she was surprised by how soft his voice was, how uncharacteristically fragile, concerned and - for some reason unknown to her – guilty it became... She trembled slightly, trying to blink, feeling her eyelids protest and shaking her head instantly.

"Gene it won't-!"

"Bolly," Gene repeated again, not moving an inch. "Look at me."

Slowly, she felt her eyelids move; they felt heavier than she could ever remember them being, weighing down on her eyes as she attempted to open them slightly; a small crack of light filtered through, burning her irises, and instantly they snapped back together, Alex letting out a gasp of pain as her tear ducts swelled. "Gene, I can't-!"

"Yes you can," he muttered grimly, his hands in her hair, voice sounding tired and agitated. "If you ain't gunna let me get the damn nurse lady, you can snap yer eyes open yerself!"

Alex swallowed, biting her lip slightly as she slowly cracked her eyes open, feeling the burning pain of light against her irises; she was about to close them when Gene's hand covered her eyes, letting small amounts of light trickle through his fingers, but blocking out the majority of the morning sunlight as her eyes adjusted, watering slightly, the pain slowly ebbing away.

After a few moments, he drew his hand away, and Alex looked up into his face, blinking against the blur of tears. The light shone behind his head, causing her to flinch slightly, but although his face was blurred she took comfort, noting the familiar line of his jaw and ruffle of his hair. The colours ran together, blurring his features, but to her he was no less recognizable, and she could feel the smile tugging at her lips as her hand tangled into his soft hair.

"You found me..." she whispered, stroking his cheek and blinking repeatedly as she tried to clear her vision. "You found me..."

Gene seemed to frown, his facial muscles bunching beneath her hand before he spoke. "Wasn't exactly hard, Bols," he muttered dryly. "You weren't exactly runnin' anywhere; yer dropped faster than a prozzie's knickers!"

She nodded, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand and taking a deep breath. "Where's Molly?" She asked softly, sniffling slightly. She felt Gene's hand tighten in his hair, heard him start to speak, then think better of it, rephrasing his previous statement as he tentatively spoke.

"I'm gunna get the nurse, Bols," he murmured, moving to draw away. "How about you get yerself some sleep and I'll-!"

"She was here," Alex murmured. "I saw her earlier; she was in the corridor with Ev-"

"Bols," Gene interrupted, his voice slightly cracked; she felt him turn his cheek away, felt his jaw clench, and then he spoke, his voice soft. "They couldn't get hold of 'er; yer file was practically empty except for birth date and somethin' to do with appendicitis..."

"What about Evan?" She asked, shifting slightly. "He's down as my next of kin; they should've called him and-"

"Alex, nobody's down as yer next of kin," he sounded confused, uncertain, and a moment later his hand had moved away from her head, and she could see him turning away, moving towards the door... It was then that her vision cleared, then that she saw the terrifyingly familiar blonde hair as it caught the sun, then that she could see his face clearly, see that the wrinkles she had become accustomed to no longer affected his countenance, and the blue eyes she knew so well, though slightly dulled, were yet to lose their full sparkle.

For a moment, the magnitude of that realization was lost on her, and she took several seconds to realize the implications that came with it; a moment later, she felt a horrible, sickening twist in her stomach, hot tears streaming from her eyes as she shook her head, sobbing loudly. "No!" She protested, hand over her mouth as she shook her head. "No! I didn't want to come back! I wanted Molly! I wanted my daughter!" Her voice rose to a yell, and her hands clenched into tight fists as they grabbed at the bed sheet covering her body. "Send me back! I want to go back! I want to-!"

Gene stepped forwards, shaking his head and reaching out to touch her shoulder, "Alex, I-!"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" She shrieked, pain searing down her throat as she did so, arms flailing as she pushed him away. "GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Gene drew back, swallowing hard as he watched her, eyes flashing with hurt and confusion; a few moments later, as her screams went on and her tears continued to fall, he left the room, turning sharply on his heel and taking a left down the corridor.

A pair of nurses entered a few minutes later, grabbing flailing limbs and pinning her down as they injected her with a sedative; she let out a last scream of anguish, tears still falling down her face, before she was out cold, and everything went black.

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It was dark when she awoke again; her eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and she was greeted only by the soft glow of her bedside lamp, and the familiar smell of cigarette smoke, coupled with fresh air, and a cool draught that washed across her face. When she turned her head to the right, she caught sight of a large hulking figure, a red-tipped cigarette, and a half-lit face that looked agitated and hurt both at once. Familiar eyes burned into hers, but there was a depth of uncertainty within them that unnerved her, but despite her anger and pain, she couldn't help but be slightly relieved to have him there.

"They tried, Bols," he mumbled before she could speak, his voice gruff and anguished. "She isn't on yer file." He stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill, tossing the butt from the window and then pulling it shut, settling himself in a wicker chair a few metres from the bed; Alex tried not to think about his newly instated distance as she nodded her head, fighting back tears.

She could feel his eyes on her, feel a wave of concern emanating from him that made her shiver, dragging the sheet slightly higher over herself as she sat up against the pillows; Gene watched silently, taking a swig from his hip flask, and then pocketing it again.

"I was with her," Alex whispered softly; she wasn't sure whether it was aimed at Gene, or simply a clarification for her own purposes, but the words came anyway. "I was home – she was with me..." her shoulders shook as she let out a sob, covering up her mouth. "I could feel her, Gene – she was real! She was real, and I-!"

"Bols?" At some point, he'd stood up, walking forwards and standing at her bedside; she tried to ignore the way his hand reached almost instantly for hers, and felt a brief thrill of warmth before he thought better of his actions, drawing his hand back, clenching instead at the white bed sheet, his eyes turned down as he spoke. "You didn't leave," he mumbled, gulping loudly. "It was just a dre-"

"It wasn't a dream!" Alex whispered sharply, feeling her voice quaver. "It was real, Gene; as real as you are now!" She swallowed suddenly, hit by a proverbial hammer as she began to acknowledge the truth of her own words, feeling an inexplicable pain in her stomach that told her she had had more than one reality – more than just Molly's world...

"Bolly, you didn't go any-!"

"You were there too," she murmured, glancing up into his face and seeing his blue eyes flicker sharply towards hers before he spoke.

"Well now I know you were dreaming!" He muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cigarettes and lighter, moving to return to the window as he went on. "I think I'd remember meetin' your daughter, Bols, don't you?"

"Not if it hasn't happened yet," Alex answered, watching his face and flinching slightly; his jaw clenched, his mouth set into a thin line, and his eyes flicked sharply to hers as they narrowed, before he shook his head, lighting up a cigarette and speaking roughly.

"You're doped up, Bols," he muttered, taking a long drag and exhaling from the window; she caught the slight, agitated hitch as he breathed out, saw the minor tremor of his hand, but said nothing to inform him of as much, still watching him as he spoke again. "Maybe I should come back tomorrow..."

She felt tears prick at her eyes, saw a slight, almost hopeful look in his eye as he glanced in her direction, but couldn't bring herself to say anything, simply following his movements with her eyes as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and repeatedly exhaled, his eyes averting out of the window.

After a few minutes, the second cigarette end followed the first, and he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, swallowing visibly as he glanced back at her, tongue wetting his lips nervously as he hesitated at the side of her bed... He watched her for a few moments, apparently looking to say something before he changed his mind and shook his head.

"Bye, Bols," he mumbled; she could feel the lump in her throat, a lump that refused to go away, her mind muddled as she fought for clarity, for understanding... He surprised her out of her uncertainty by leaning forwards suddenly, his lips brushing across her forehead as his hand cupped her cheek; she leaned into it without thinking at exactly the same second that he seemed to rethink, stilling where he was and swallowing hard.

"Don't jump in front of any more bullets, Bolly," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to keep an undercurrent of guilt from creeping in. "They'll 'ave my bollucks on hooks if you get hurt again."

As he left, Alex felt the tears come, trickling fast down her face and splashing onto the blanket, and when the nurse came in twenty minutes later, she took the sedative without further question, welcoming the dark silence it offered and sinking into it gratefully.

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Gene sat in the car, smoking continuously as his eyes remained fixed upon the front door of the hospital, watching numerous people come and go; nurses going off shift, visitors leaving, doctors coming on... He should've been cock-a-hoop, he knew; she'd finally woken up, was finally speaking, breathing, moving... But he wasn't. He didn't know what he'd expected from her in honesty, but to have her scream, shout, flail her arms and then continue on with her futuristic bullshit hadn't been exactly how he'd imagined the event playing out.

He'd expected a slap; thinking about it, he'd have welcomed it as long as he had his Bolly back; hell, he'd probably even relished it... But he hadn't been expecting her to cup his cheek, stroke his hair, and then suddenly scream blue bloody murder like a claustrophobic woman who just realized she was stuck in an elevator... Thinking about it in hindsight, he wasn't really sure why he'd kissed her as he left, except for a horrible force of habit that had become almost compulsive on his visits; frankly he'd been expecting a rebuke, a shove in the stomach, a noise of disgust, but instead he was left doubly confused, because not only had she not drawn away, she'd leaned into him... Leaned into him, right after telling him she'd been to the future with him; any second now, he was half-expecting Doctor Who to pop up in a bright blue telephone box and offer to stop tugging on his sonic and explain it all in terms of atomic structure and molecular – at this point, he had the strangest feeling he might believe it.

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, breathing shakily as he glanced at his watch; he'd told Ray he'd be at Luigi's for nine, and it was already half past... With a grimace, a last drag, and a sigh that was far louder than he'd intended, he turned on the engine and sped back down the street.

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"So, what are the Doc's saying?" Ray's interest was obvious, but it didn't stop his hand straying over his Italian lady-friend's arse whilst she practically devoured his neck; Gene turned away with a grimace, downing two whiskeys in quick succession before he spoke.

"She'll be fine," he mumbled, wiping his mouth and gulping slightly as Ray nodded in approval, glancing suggestively at his companion before smirking and excusing himself; Gene tried not to think about what he was doing, particularly when he saw the pair slipping non-too subtly into the toilets.

"Is good news, Signore Hunt, yes?" Luigi's voice was edged with glee and delight, but there was an undercurrent of concern that said Gene's negativity was catching. "You will bring Signorina Drake home soon?"

"Yes, Luigi," Gene murmured, nodding absently and swirling his whiskey in the glass he held. "She'll be back, I'll bugger off, and you can get back to shoving fettuccine down her throat."

"But you aren't happy, Signore?"

"Happy?" Gene grimaced with distaste, nose turning up slightly. "Course I'm not bloody happy!"

"But, Signore Hunt, she is better! She is-!"

Gene didn't hear the rest of Luigi's sentence; downing his whiskey, he stood up and left the room, heading up to Alex's flat without consideration.

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Alex woke late, her limbs heavy with sleep, eyes droopy, and body tangled in the bed sheets. The room was filled with light, but on looking around, she was disappointed to find herself alone; Gene hadn't returned. She swallowed back a wave of pain, grabbing a pillow and holding it tight to her chest as she watched the clock on the wall tick towards eleven o'clock. Thoughts of Molly occupied her mind, the last sight of her burned into Alex's irises as she bit down hard upon her lip, attempting to quell a fresh wave of tears as the hole in her chest gaped openly.

Why was she here? Alex wondered, jaw trembling. She could have been happy in the future, with Molly, and Evan, and the job... She could have gotten over Gene some day, could have let him go in the knowledge that they'd had their time together, that they'd been happy... Couldn't she? Surely after a while, it would have been bearable, she'd have met someone else, loved someone else... Wouldn't she? Molly needed her; Molly had always needed her... And she had seen that Gene could live without her...

But then, why was she here? If life would have been so good with Molly, if she could have survived without Gene, why had she collapsed? Why had she heard him screaming, felt his pain, felt as though the world was ending? She'd been healthy; there was no reason for her to die – the Doctors had given her the all clear weeks beforehand, told her she'd be fit, healthy and back to work within a month...

And now she was here, alone, stuck in a hospital bed and without her daughter, terrified too that Gene could never feel that way again, that whatever they would have shared in the future would have to remain a distant piece of her past...

Tears welled in her eyes, throat tightening and breath hitching as she bit back a harsh sob; somehow, in the space of a few days, she had lost her daughter, her lover and her godfather – even here, in this other world that made no obvious sense whatsoever, she couldn't be with Gene... Because Gene couldn't believe in the future, because this Gene hadn't been there; and it wasn't difficult to understand his frustration, his anger, his betrayal – not really, not in all honesty - but still she was struck by an aching pain in her chest, unable to contain the simple knowledge that things were different now, that they wouldn't be the same again...

It was heartbreaking enough to be alone without her daughter, painful enough to think she couldn't watch her grow and live and love, but to know that she faced a future without even the smallest shred of that which she had known, longed for, believed in...

She shuddered, biting back a shuddering gasp, and then reaching for the sick-bag on her bedside table.

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When Gene came by that night, Alex was dozing, exhausted after a day of grieving and crying that left her face stained and blotchy; he looked awful, drained, and, if she wasn't mistaken, a little drunk. His tie was askew, shirt untucked, blazer torn, and he stank of smoke and alcohol to a level that was impressive even for him. He sank into the chair at her bedside without a word, both hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets as he looked at her; she didn't fail to notice the way his eyes refused to meet her own, but she was relieved to see him all the same.

"You look like hell, Bols," he mumbled, swallowing slightly; she sniffed slightly, scanning him with her eyes and smiling to herself.

"You don't look like a million dollars yourself," she murmured back, wetting her lips and shifting her hand slightly closer to the side of the bed, silently pleading with him to take it; if he noticed, he made no sign, and simply nodded to himself.

After a few moments, Alex spoke again, attempting to keep the crack from her voice as she did so. "Bad day, was it?" She whispered, biting her lip; he nodded, opening his mouth to speak, before thinking better of it and standing up. A moment later he was at the window, cigarette between his lips and smoke drifting slightly in the breeze as he exhaled shakily.

"It ain't the same anymore, Bols," he said eventually, taking another drag on his cigarette. "It's all movin' on; new DI, Chris and Shaz gettin' married, Ray shackin' up with some Italian bird with a-!"

"I meant to ask you about that!" Alex interrupted, feeling the smile on her face as she shook her head slightly. "You said something about him getting her pregnant, and I forgot to ask anything further, but-!"

"Pregnant?" Gene frowned, eyebrows flying up his forehead and voice etched with disbelief. "He's not Einstein or anything, Bols, but he ain't stupid enough to let his meat hang unpacked an' shag her up the duff!"

Ignoring his crassness, Alex shook her head. "But you said he was-!"

"Bols, I think I'd remember if Ray was about to spawn mini-permed buggers, don't you?" He took another drag on his cigarette, shaking his head slightly and exhaling loudly. Alex watched him for a moment, and then nodded, speaking softly to herself.

"Of course... it might not have happened yet; it might be in the future... it might be now..." She trailed off, seeing the grimace of pained frustration on Gene's face and wondering what was going through his mind... She said nothing more, half-wondering if she had said too much, watching him carefully as he kept smoking and waiting for him to speak...

After a minute or so, he leaned against the windowsill, looking out through the window as he spoke, apparently ignoring her last comment as he breathed slowly. "S'all different now," he mumbled again, almost to himself. "You're in 'ere, they're all shaggin' like rabbits in heat, an' I'm lumbered 'ere because-" He stopped suddenly, gulping hard and shaking his head.

Alex felt a horrible wave of pain crest over her, but she hid it, speaking softly to him and hoping he would grant her an answer. "Because what, Gene?" She whispered, waiting quietly; he shifted uncomfortably, apparently battling with himself, before opting to remain silent; she spoke again, slightly softer. "Because of me?" She whispered. "Is it my-?"

"No," he answered swiftly, shaking his head and swallowing back guilt. "No, it's not you..."

Alex bit her lip, waiting a moment, then speaking again. "Then what-?"

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled. "Had too much to drink; I'm just spouting rubbish."

"You're not," she whispered, shaking her head and feeling her lip tremble. "And it matters; please, Gene... please, tell me..."

Her voice was pleading and he turned away, his head hanging slightly as he looked the other way. For a while, she thought he was going to leave; his shoulders were rigid, knuckles white as he leant against the windowsill, jaw clenched firmly... Then he spoke, voice gruff, awkward and, beneath it all, almost hurt...

"It's been three months, Alex," he murmured, shaking his head. "Three months of you, lyin' there like a corpse, me thinkin' I killed you, the others wonderin' if it was deliberate... an' now you wake up an' stick to that bollucks about the future, start tellin' me I've said things that I haven't said yet..." He trailed off, swallowing hard and gritting his teeth.

"Y'know, I convinced myself fer a while that you were trying to protect me," he murmured, looking at her almost sadly, his eyes nearly vulnerable. "Thought maybe you were worried, thought I was rotten... But you're still sticking to it, Alex; an' now I'm wondering if all your psychiatrical bollucks isn't just some huge cover up fer the fact that you're as fucked up as the rest of them!"

"Gene, please, I'm not mad! I'm just-!"

"Just what, Alex?" He snapped, swallowing hard and shaking his head. "What are you, if you're not mad? Doctor Who's fictional, Bolly, and the sooner you get your head around it the better!" He was halfway across the room by the time Alex spoke, her voice panicked and desperate, catching in her throat.

"Gene, please, please, I'm not mad! I really, really am from the future; I really-!"

He was nearly at the door, hand on the doorknob, and she spoke again, shaking her head. "You're staying in my flat!" He didn't stop, and, in a desperate bid to make him understand, she blurted out the only thing she could think of; "you've got a white scar on your left thigh from getting shot up in Manchester." He froze suddenly in his tracks, but she didn't stop, feeling her voice quaver as she went on.

"You've got a birthmark under your hairline that you used to think was a brain tumour, but then your Mum convinced you that it couldn't be one, because you'd need to have a brain..."

His head turned towards her, eyes confused and uncertain, but Alex still didn't stop, instantly seeking out all of the truths he had shared with her, all of the small details that had changed everything...

"You're ticklish behind your right knee," she went on. "Your second toe's bigger than your first; you only like one song by Rod Stewart, and that's only because it – because it reminds you of me..." She swallowed, watching his face for a reaction and waiting as he opened his mouth several times, closing it again when words failed.

Eventually he spoke, voice soft. "How do you know?"

"You told me."

"In the future?" He muttered coldly, voice unbelieving.

"Yes," she whispered, nodding slightly. "How would I know all that if it hadn't happened? You haven't told anyone else ..."

Gene swallowed, shaking his head. "You don't know that..."

"You told me," she said softly, eyes stinging as she watched him. "And I believed you..."

He stood still, apparently wracked with uncertainty and indecision, before he nodded slowly, glancing up at her, then lighting up another cigarette in the middle of the room; she didn't bother to scold him. "Say I believe you," he murmured, wetting his lips and swallowing hard. "Which I don't... but – but say I did - what else did I tell you?"

"You told me you looked for my letter after I left, but you never read it; it was under the video player..." He nodded, but he didn't seem overly impressed.

"You told me you missed me," she added, wetting her lips; he shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing, even as he watched tears spill from the corners of her eyes. "And you said that you didn't love me, because- because you'd never had the chance..."

Again he looked uncomfortable, and Alex slipped shakily from the bed as he averted his eyes, walking over on legs that trembled and standing close enough to him that she could smell his breath; he looked at her in alarm as she reached him, but a moment later she was speaking, her voice slightly uneven. "You keep my warrant card in your left breast pocket," she whispered, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, the other slipping gently across his chest and into his blazer, hand closing around the warm leather that she found there and drawing it gently out; Gene's breath hitched slightly, she felt the warmth of his breath and smelt the tangible hint of whiskey, and a moment later she'd flipped open the leather wallet to reveal her own face. Looking up, she found Gene's piercing blue eyes fixated upon her face, and a second later he'd turned her around, pressing her gently into the wall as his hands cupped her cheeks, his breath hitching and uneven as it touched her face.

"Why?" He murmured softly, eyes intense; for a second, Alex hesitated, shaking her head, but then he spoke again, pressing her slightly harder, hands tightening on her face. "Why would I tell you that?"

For a moment she couldn't speak; despite the cigarettes and the alcohol, his smell was intoxicating, and the touch of his hand on her face sent shivers down her spine, lip trembling as his eyes locked on hers... Then he seemed to falter, glancing down at her as if fearful, as though suddenly realizing that he had pushed her, that she was just out of bed and pressed into a wall with him demanding answers...

Then she felt him hesitate and her hand was on his, holding it in place as she spoke, her voice breaking and trembling. "We were- we met, again and we- we were close, Gene... We were close... closer than we've ever been..."

"How?" He whispered, swallowing hard. "How'd you mean?"

"It just happened," she whispered softly. "_We_ just happened... and things just came out in conversation, Gene... Please believe me..."

"You could've been dreaming," he mumbled. "You could've heard me say things, do things... It doesn't mean you-"

"It does," she whispered. "How would I know about this?" Her fingers sought his hair, pushing it aside and tenderly touching one finger to the birthmark as she pulled his head towards her. "You don't talk about this with anyone..."

"Alex, you can't be from-!"

"I am," she promised softly. "It- it can't be our future anymore because I'm here now, but it was our future; it was your future, too, Gene, until I woke up..."

"I'm going to get a Doctor, Alex," he whispered, voice cracking as he turned his eyes away. "Them drugs are makin' you-"

He was cut off as Alex pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with a fierce desperation that knocked the breath from his lungs; her hand tangled into his hair, her lips sucked gently at his own and he froze at the sense of familiarity with which she kissed him, as though she'd done it before... Because how was she doing this? She couldn't possibly know that he liked having his hair gently tugged and twirled as she kissed him, or that he found it unreasonably sexy for her to suck on his lower lip before she pushed her tongue into his mouth... She couldn't know that his whole body thrummed with delight when her hand slipped beneath the collar of his shirt and stroked across his shoulder blades, or that he shivered when her fingers stroked behind the shell of his ear...

Without really thinking, and against his better judgement, he kissed her back.

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**You didn't expect it to be all roses when she woke up did you? :p**

**Hope this chapter was alright, and enjoy the final ever ep tomorrow night! Here's hoping for a Galexy party!**

**Mage of the Heart**


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